


heartlines on your hand

by doloirs



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, maybe?? half the time idk what im doing next
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doloirs/pseuds/doloirs
Summary: Seungcheol has no idea how long it takes before the grip on his arm loosens. The boy doesn't let go, though, but gently rotates his arm so that his wrist is facing upwards. He swallows down a lump in his throat as he sees the neat row of 0's, now sitting stagnant on his skin. Wordlessly, the boy pulls up his sleeve. Eight zeros in blue ink, a twin to Seungcheol's own. (A part of Seungcheol has always dreaded the idea of soulmates. When the numbers appear on his arm, he learns that the reality is scarier.)





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't supposed to publish this until it was done BUT i've been lacking inspiration lately and i thought maybe posting the first part would offer the emotional blackmail needed to finish this fic. this will probably have 3?ish parts in total so it will be a relatively short one, the rating may go up but at this point who knows (bc i don't) lmao
> 
> it's a soulmate au! with a magical timer!! feel free to engage in some suspension of disbelief re: the mechanics of the soulmate business. as the ancient proverb goes, "it's not that deep"
> 
> also add me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) if u wanna

The morning after his eighteenth birthday, Seungcheol wakes up with numbers on the inside of his arm.

The digits are blue, standing out against his skin like veins, ticking down as he watches. 12121211, they say, then 12121210, 12121209, 12121208... His fingers twitch in a reflex to squash the shifting numbers like they're ants trickling up his arm, but he squeezes his hand into a fist, instead. Technically, there's no sensation – the numbers just seem like a tattoo that's constantly changing, and as he flexes his arm, the blue marks move with his skin.

Seungcheol's been anticipating these numbers for the better half of his life. Even so, there's a sickening sense of trepidation as he stares them down. Because although he was choking on his envy when Mingyu's digits first appeared two years prior, and especially when he met his friend's soulmate, Wonwoo, watching their seamless connection from day one, it's all so very soon. _12 days, 12 hours, 11 minutes, 55 seconds_ , he counts. In less than two weeks, he'll know his soulmate.

He lets out a slow breath and tears his eyes off the numbers. ”Mom”, he calls out and hates how his voice comes out, loud yet somehow still small and a little shaky. Like he's a little kid again and having a sleepover with his cousins and Sojin has tormented him with some horror story she learned from her peers at school.

As the Day approaches, Seungcheol feels funny, like he's stretched too thin. His mother keeps giving him gentle-eyed glances when she thinks he isn't looking, and he hates it, because suddenly all he can think of is his father. Nam Hwayoung and Choi Seungmin, soulmates for life, until Seungmin's ended one rainy Wednesday afternoon shortly after their son's birth. Seungcheol doesn't remember his father, nor has he ever truly grieved for him – he might be young, but he's always been the sensible type, and he sees no sense in missing someone he never knew.

Hwayoung ended up remarrying Jongsuk – an engineer with a job Seungcheol still doesn't understand, with a perpetually unshaven face and large hands and the kind of boisterous laugh he could hear even through the front door when coming home from school. Seungcheol has never called him such, but Jongsuk is a father to him in nearly every sense of the word.

He sometimes wonders, though. When his mother will shriek in shock and laughter as Jongsuk, home from work and fresh out of the cold December air, places his cool hands on her bare neck. Or when he falls asleep to one of their soft conversations, words mellow and barely audible.

”What if I just locked myself up in my room and waited it out”, Seungcheol asks his mother for the third time, two days before the numbers are supposed to strike zero. ”They couldn't meet me, then.”

”It doesn't work that way”, Hwayoung says, back turned to Seungcheol as she fills the kettle with water. ”And I thought you wanted to meet this person. You wouldn't stop complaining when Mingyu got his mark.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth, but his brain can conjure up no objection. ”Yeah, well, it's just so sudden”, he grumbles.

”It might feel that way, but twelve days really isn't that sudden. Mine was--”

”Four, yeah. I know.” Seungcheol's got a mug in his hands, and he runs his finger along the outlines of the blue flower painted on the side, chipped and worn after too many rounds in the dishwasher. ”I just...”

He's heard so many stories. Of the world sliding into place when the countdown stops. Of colors that seem brighter, of everything looking and sounding and smelling and _tasting_ more vivid. And it sounds... lovely, except that he also keeps thinking about the faraway tone in his mother's voice on the rare occasion she mentions Seungmin, even after all these years. Of the weeks he is told to have spent in Aunt Hwajung's care, not quite old enough to walk, while Hwayoung cried and cried in a dark room and an unmade bed.

On the night before, Seungcheol barely sleeps. The morning of, he keeps glancing at the numbers through his classes, watching the seconds dissolve with an odd sense of detachment. He can feel several pairs of eyes on him, curious and imploring, because word travels fast in his school. By the end of the day, he's had people he barely even knows wish him good luck, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

It certainly doesn't make him feel any less nervous. With eleven minutes left and in desperate need of a caffeine fix, he swings by a coffee shop on his way home, and it's like he's hyperaware of every face he sees. _Is this the place_ , Seungcheol wonders, six minutes remaining once he's got his tall latte in his hand. Somehow it doesn't feel right, though – being in this noisy café, people bustling around him to reach their seats, the smell of coffee and baked goods lingering in the air. So he leaves, and as he ambles along the sidewalk, every now and then taking a sip of the too-hot beverage, his heart is hammering out of his chest.

The countdown has been on his mind ever since the numbers appeared on his arm twelve days ago, but oddly enough, he forgets all about them mere moments before it happens. One minute he's scrolling through the music library on his phone, eyes fixed on the screen, and the next he's being yanked backwards by some invisible force. Seungcheol stumbles but manages to not fall down, and the half-finished latte spills on the pavement and the toes of his shoes.

The 'invisible force' turns out to be a hand on his arm. Seungcheol stares dumbly at the traffic he almost walked into, then up to the owner of the hand. He sees a boy with long ash-blonde hair and hooded eyes and a beautiful sullen face, and his heart clenches, because in that moment he _knows_.

There's a static silence as they stare at each other, and Seungcheol drinks the boy in like he would a spectacular scenery. He traces the defined bridge of his nose and the small mouth hanging slightly ajar and the beauty mark that stands out on his high cheekbone. All the while he's dimly aware that the long-haired boy is doing the same to him, only Seungcheol can't bring himself to feel self-conscious, not really.

Seungcheol has no idea how long it takes before the grip on his arm loosens. The boy doesn't let go, though, but gently rotates his arm so that his wrist is facing upwards. He swallows down a lump in his throat as he sees the neat row of 0's, now sitting stagnant on his skin.

Wordlessly, the boy pulls up his sleeve. Eight zeros in blue ink, a twin to Seungcheol's own.

The long-haired boy is the one to break the silence. ”You almost got hit by a car”, he says defensively, as if that can in any way summarize what is happening here. His voice is slightly higher than Seungcheol's, a quiet and steady monotone, but strangely breathless.

Seungcheol licks his lips, wets his mouth to speak. Only no sound comes out. The other boy has let go of him now, and he lets his arm fall at his side, his skin tingling from the touch. It's everything and nothing like he expected – he feels certain and unsure, powerful and weakened at the same time. And he is terrified, because he has known love and lust, affection and infatuation, but none of it could've prepared him for this.

He thinks of his mother, then – a false memory of Hwayoung curled up under a heap of rumpled blankets, curtains drawn over the windows until no light gets in, her face sallow and thin and eyes bloodshot from crying – , and he blanches. Without a word, Seungcheol turns and runs, a car honking as he leaps past with his backpack swinging back and forth. The boy doesn't follow him, nor does he call out after him, although Seungcheol doubts he could hear him from the pounding of blood in his ears.

Seungcheol runs and runs until his lungs heave and doesn't stop until their yellow house is in his line of sight, blurred by the sting of fresh tears.

 

 

It takes some weeks, but the numbers eventually fade. When they do, it's like a breath that has been building up inside him releases in a single exhale, something akin to relief but not quite. For several days afterwards, Seungcheol keeps glancing at the tan expanse of his arm, expecting to see the mutely ticking countdown that used to make his heart clench. Now, though, it's the sight of smooth skin and blue veins that unsettles him.

It comes to him as somewhat of a surprise that life, indeed, goes on. He goes to school and tries not to collapse under the workload of senior year and has movie nights with his friends (ones that tend to be more heavy on endless chatter than actual movies). On these occasions, they talk about school and boys and girls and existential questions, often all in one night.

They don't talk about Seungcheol's soulmate. The night of his encounter, he told Mingyu about it over the phone, expecting the taller boy to laugh along at his cowardice and maybe tease him for a minute or two and then shrug off the subject, because _really, soulmates aren't that big of a deal anyway_. It was the reaction he wanted, but for all his merits, Mingyu has never really been good at accommodating his insecurities purely for the sake of it.

_As he finishes his story, there is a short silence. When Mingyu speaks, he sounds serious, and Seungcheol feels sick to his stomach. ”Why would you run?” Mingyu says in bewilderment. ”What was so horrible about this guy, anyway?”_

_”What? Nothing. At least, I don't think there was.”_

_”Well, there must have been something wrong with him for you to bail like that.”_

_Seungcheol is stunned that Mingyu doesn't understand. It's unfair of him, because it's not like he's ever been able to vocalize the true trepidation he feels at the concept of soulmates, but after eight years of friendship he has a tendency to expect Mingyu to just know. The two seem to know each other inside and out, so it's a little unsettling to realize that mysteries still remain between them._

_”Was he ugly?” Mingyu continues when he doesn't speak. Seungcheol hears rustling on the other end of the line, followed by crunching noises, like he's having a snack. ”I thought it wasn't even possible to find them ugly. Like, even if they've got the most jacked up face, you'd still think they're beautiful.”_

_”He wasn't ugly”, Seungcheol murmurs. He thinks of a pair of almond-shaped eyes and a slim figure and lips red from being chewed on, and there's a rubber band that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, twisting mechanically around his fingers. ”It's just... Why should it be him? What if there's someone better out there?”_

_”I don't think you're really grasping this whole 'soulmate' situation.”_

_”Why should I?” Seungcheol sounds petulant even in his own ears, but he can't bring himself to care, because for the past two weeks there's been a ball of anxiety lodged in his chest, and it's hard to breathe from the pressure. It's enough to make anyone cranky, he reasons. ”I've seen mine and frankly, I think soulmates are overrated.”_

_”Wow. You saw the guy for a full – what, two minutes?”_

_Seungcheol utters a dry, humorless chuckle. The rubber band is wrapped in a tourniquet around his index finger, cutting off blood circulation. ”You know what, I'm getting tired”, he murmurs. ”It's been a rough day. We'll talk tomorrow.”_

_”I didn't say anything wrong, did I?”_

_”What? No. Like I said, I'm just tired.”_

_He can hear Mingyu on the other end of the line, chewing thoughtfully on a potato chip. ”You know you're like a brother to me, hyung”, Mingyu says, and Seungcheol's bracing himself, because he knows he's about to hear something he won't like. ”But sometimes you can really be a chickenshit.”_

 

 

Days blur into weeks that blur into months, and most of the time Seungcheol's too preoccupied with his studies and being the captain of the rugby team to really, truly think about the whole soulmate business. Around the two-month mark, it dawns on him that he can no longer remember his soulmate's face – there's only the blurriest image in his head, like he's staring at a silhouette through frosted glass, and he experiences a potent mix of relief and distress at the discovery.

Seungcheol's not sure if he expected to see him again. Seoul is a big city, but his luck has always been shit when it comes to avoiding the wrong people. Which is why it's a little surprising that it takes as long as it does (two months and eighteen days, he counts later, as if it really matters) for them to run into each other again.

It happens at a house party, of all places.

Seungcheol hasn't been particularly outgoing as of late, what with all the schoolwork and his hobbies and overall feeling more morose than usual. Mingyu has been bugging him to go out for weeks, though, which is how he finds himself at a house whose owner's name he can't recall. He is feeling pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol and a joint he shared with Hansol and two random people, and in the end the high is what keeps him from flinching as he spots him on the other side of the packed living room.

His soulmate is holding a can of beer and talking to a handsome auburn-haired boy that, upon second look, Seungcheol vaguely recognizes as Jisung... Jinseop... Ji-something. Damned if he remembers. One of his rugby teammates used to date him briefly and he attended a few of their games, and exchanging absent-minded _hello_ s is just about the only form of contact Seungcheol's had with him. It's enough proof, though, that the world truly is too small for his liking.

If he focuses on Ji-what's-his-face, Seungcheol can almost ignore the visceral reaction his soulmate has instilled in him. _Almost_ , because his blood runs white-hot in his veins and his heart seems to be intent on hammering its way out of his chest, and some attention needs to be paid to that before he ends up blacking out or something. Pretending to listen to Junhui's oblivious chatter, he grips the headrest of the armchair in front of him with whitened knuckles – his soulmate hasn't noticed him yet, and Seungcheol wants to keep it that way, only he can't quite force his legs to move.

”Shit, hyung, you're really high”, Junhui laughs all of a sudden, and Seungcheol tears his eyes away from the pair long enough to flash him a strained smile. ”You should know better than to drink and smoke at the same time. That can fuck you up.”

”Did you see where Mingyu went off to?”

”Mingyu? Nah, no idea. I think he and Wonwoo may have already left, you know how little patience Wonwoo has for this stuff.”

Seungcheol contemplates telling Junhui, but the younger boy is just drunk enough where Seungcheol doesn't quite trust him not to make a scene at such news. _That or he'd insist on pulling some wingman act_ , he thinks, wincing at the image.

As though having read his mind, Junhui gives him a sly look. ”There's this guy...”

”I'm probably not interested.” Seungcheol hasn't had the best of luck with blind dates. About six months ago, Hansol tried to fix him up with one of his girlfriend Yuna's friends, leading up to the most awkward evening of his life.

”You sure? He's pretty cute.”

”According to you, everyone is cute as long as you're not the one who has to hook up with them”, Seungcheol deadpans. ”I still won't risk another blind date.”

”What? That's not what I meant”, Junhui says, and it takes Seungcheol a moment to realize he's not just feigning innocence. ”There's a guy over there looking at you. Purple hair, white shirt. Really pretty. Do you know him or something?”

Without thinking, Seungcheol looks over, and he's not at all surprised as his eyes lock with familiar ones. Even so, his heart stutters as his fingers tighten on the neck of the bottle, and there's that feeling again, like he is shaken to the core and the invisible thread is pulling, tugging him closer to his soulmate. Something seems to be swelling in his chest, rattling against his ribcage, pleading to be let out. It's frightful and exhilarating and confusing all at once, and he feels like the whole room _must_ know, because there's no way something so powerful could exist only within him.

”Hyung? What's wrong? You look like you're gonna throw up.”

”Yeah”, he says faintly, ”yeah. I feel really sick. I'm gonna go to the bathroom.”

He shoves his drink unceremoniously at Junhui and wades his way through the crowd. Instead of climbing upstairs, though, he heads down the hall and straight out of the front door. The cool night air feels like a slap in the face after the uncomfortable heat of the house, and he's just about halfway across the front lawn when he remembers his jacket that's still buried in a pile in the downstairs bedroom. Seungcheol contemplates leaving it there, but he's freezing his ass off and it _is_ a brand new jacket, so he turns back towards the house – only to see a face he's starting to despise.

His soulmate is standing there at the foot of the porch steps, skinny arms crossed over his chest. As far as Seungcheol can remember, he looks the same as before, with the exception of his hair – the formerly blonde strands are now dyed a lavender shade. Seungcheol's eyes flutter briefly shut as he feels the familiar pull towards him. When he opens them again, he takes in the pinched expression on the other boy's face, and he knows there's no running away this time.

”You think maybe we should talk about this?” Seungcheol's heard his voice before, but somehow it feels like the first time.

”Then talk”, Seungcheol says. He's tired and feverish and shivering in the breeze, but he still feels bold, somehow.

The long-haired boy stares at him for a moment, his face remarkably void of emotion even when Seungcheol feels like he's showing everything on his. ”You ran from me that time”, he says then, a sliver of accusation in his voice. ”Why?”

Subconsciously, Seungcheol runs a tongue over his lower lip. ”What's your name?”

”Jeonghan.”

 _Jeonghan_. He fights back the hysterical urge to laugh, because all this time he's been worrying himself sick over someone whose name he didn't even know. ”I'm Seungcheol”, he says. ”Look, Jeonghan, I'm not sure about the whole 'soulmate' thing.”

Jeonghan is waiting for him to elaborate, so he clears his throat and continues. ”I don't even know you”, he explains. ”And I know it's how this stuff usually goes, but... I'm not sure I want to spend a lifetime with someone just because some numbers on my arm told me so.”

”You could at least pretend to care about what I think”, Jeonghan says, his voice slick with ice.

A shocked laugh slips past Seungcheol's lips. He knows Jeonghan's got a point, because it's not simply _his_ decision to make, but the quiet venom in his voice irks him. Before Seungcheol can retort, though, there's a voice he definitely didn't want to hear right now:

”Hyung! There you are! Did I... did I interrupt something?”

Mingyu falters in his words that are coated with a slight slur. He's hovering at the doorway, eyes darting back and forth between Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

”Mingyu”, Seungcheol says, striving for nonchalance, but it's like the tension within him is leaking everywhere – his face, voice, posture. ”Now is not a good time.”

Mingyu frowns. ”You okay?”

”I'm fine.” With some trepidation Seungcheol adds, ”this is Jeonghan. He's my, uh... you know.”

Seungcheol cringes at his own lack of eloquence, but strangely enough, Mingyu _does_ seem to know. ”Oh”, he exhales, his voice airily light, but the act of ease is superficial. ”I'll leave you two alone, then.”

Before Seungcheol can say another word, Jeonghan cuts in. ”No, I think we're done here”, he says, and Seungcheol fiercely hopes that he's imagining the hurt in his strained voice. What isn't up for interpretation is the quiet anger that's exuding from Jeonghan's tense form, coalescing into something that burns at Seungcheol's lungs as he breathes. He wonders if Mingyu can feel it, too, or if this is yet another soulmate gimmick no one bothered to tell him about.

Seungcheol doesn't stop Jeonghan as he pushes past Mingyu and disappears back into the house. He can sense Mingyu looking at him, but he pretends to stare down at the concrete, and there's a lump in his throat he's determined to ignore.

"Wonwoo and I were just about to leave", Mingyu says with a faint stammer, his words dancing around the topic that is like a giant pink elephant in the room. "He'll be out in a minute. We'll drop you home."

Seungcheol doesn't turn down the offer. He also doesn't say anything when Mingyu, a clingy drunk by default, doesn't latch himself onto his long-suffering sober boyfriend as Wonwoo returns from the bathroom - as if the sight of such affection would be too much for Seungcheol. They drive in silence, and even though Wonwoo must have sensed the bizarre shift in the atmosphere, he doesn't ask questions. Seungcheol likes him a little more for that.

Long after Seungcheol has crawled under the covers in the stillness of his bedroom, there seems to be a buzzing under his skin that keeps him awake. When he finally drifts to sleep that night, he dreams in lilac.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY omg the last 1.5k words or so took me forever. also there's no way in hell this thing is gonna have 3-4 parts like i thought it would, it's definitely gonna be longer! jeonghan, seungcheol, jisoo, jihoon, mingyu and wonwoo are all the same age here, hansol is a year younger.
> 
> also: seungcheol starts uni in early september because my dumb europian ass wrote half of this before realizing that the korean academic year begins in march. apologies for that
> 
> i listened to banks' [lovesick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m26uYMicFkw) a lot while writing this. not telling you to listen while reading or anything, it's just a good song

The rest of the spring passes in a blur. Seungcheol studies and writes lyrics about anything but love and exercises until his legs almost give out. He ends up passing all of his exams, although his grades are average. They're hardly anything to get him into a good school on their own, but his sports scholarship has already guaranteed him a spot at one of the better colleges in Seoul, which gives him one less thing to worry about. He's majoring in physical therapy, which might not be a lifelong dream come true, but it's good enough. He's rapidly learning that life as an adult is full of 'good-enoughs'.

Summer comes quicker than usual, bringing along a sweltering heat wave that lasts for weeks. Seungcheol spends most of his time working at a grocery store (thankfully one with efficient air conditioning), smiling vacantly at customers and stocking the shelves five days a week. It's mostly monotonous labor, but a part of him enjoys it, content to let his mind wander as he rings up one item after another and has a mundane chat with the occasional talkative customer.

One of his co-workers is Doyoon, a boy a year older than him who studies architecture in Daegu but spends summers in Seoul, where his family lives. It's about a week into their brief talks in the locker room and fleeting looks from across the store that Seungcheol realizes there's something there, an attraction that burns low in his stomach at the sight of Doyoon's tanned bronze skin or one of his slow smiles. That realization turns into clumsy, eager kisses in the break room and the occasional brush of hand and, eventually, Seungcheol losing his virginity on Doyoon's old single mattress.

_The air in the room is hot and heavy like molasses, and Seungcheol watches, skin sticky from sweat and something else (he grimaces at the thought, but is too lazy to move) as the ceiling fan spins at a speed too leisure to bring any real relief from the heat._

_The narrow mattress forces them to lie flush against each other, which is all a little too much in this weather, so Seungcheol tries to wriggle just a bit further from Doyoon's naked skin. ”How do you feel”, Doyoon asks, his voice a hoarse murmur as he scrolls through his phone._

_"Sore”, Seungcheol replies without hesitation, earning a small chuckle from Doyoon. He brings a hand to his backside at the thought, prodding his hole gently with one finger, which makes him wince._

_”Was it everything you ever dreamed of?” Doyoon's tone is teasing, but Seungcheol thinks about the question. It was awkward, and there was more laughing than he'd expected, but overall it was nice. He doesn't regret it, and he decides to tell Doyoon this._

_”Well, I'm glad.” Doyoon throws an arm around him, his fingers dangling loosely, the skin around the nails cracked and dry. ”Gotta say, I feel kinda flattered that you chose to do it with me. A lot of people like their first time to be with their soulmate – more romantic that way, I guess.”_

_Seungcheol swallows thickly at the thought, and his overactive imagination provides him with a fleeting image of Jeonghan's blurry, out-of-focus face, lavender hair splayed over his shoulders and mouth falling slack as his back arches--_

_He blinks, and the image is gone. It leaves him feeling shaken, and he focuses back on Doyoon's words. ”You never know how long it's gonna take before you get the opportunity”, he drawls. ”The concept of virginity seems stupid, anyway. Of losing some part of yourself to someone.”_

_He hasn't told Doyoon about Jeonghan. As far as the other boy knows, he hasn't encountered his soulmate, either. It's something they've been able to bond over, since the numbers are yet to appear on Doyoon's skin – something he claims not to care about, but Seungcheol suspects he does, even if only out of curiosity._

Seungcheol thought he felt guilty about lying to Doyoon before, but it is only after that one sweltering afternoon that the realization strikes him. If Doyoon were to know the truth, would he think that Seungcheol had manipulated him? Used him to see what it would be like, if he could make do without that larger-than-life connection, the feeling of stars aligning when they kiss? Worse still, _had_ Seungcheol used him, no matter how subconsciously?

Even though Doyoon remains unaware of the turmoil inside him, things are never entirely the same. It's as though something has shifted, and even though they still make out in the locker room after closing time and fool around every now and then (one of those times in Doyoon's parents' car, and the sight of a silver Honda still makes Seungcheol blush), in the end it doesn't sting quite as much as he thought when Doyoon returns to Daegu in early August in preparation for his sophomore year.

Not that Seungcheol has much time to miss him, anyway. He quits work a week after Doyoon's leave, and the following days are spent packing in preparation for moving into his new student flat. The place is tiny, with just enough space to accommodate a bed and a desk for furniture, but Seungcheol loves it. Even with the dull ache of homesickness that lingers for the first days, the nondescript (ugly) pale yellow walls and a bathroom so small he ends up dousing the toilet with water every time he showers, it's _his place_ , and there is something inexplicably thrilling about that.

The first week of freshman year is not all that different from that Seungcheol expected. It's packed with orientations and campus tours and kindling new friendships that probably won't last until the end of the term, and although Seungcheol's never had much trepidation when it comes to socializing, it's a comfort to have Mingyu and Wonwoo with him. On their fourth day, Mingyu introduces him to Kwon Soonyoung, a veterinary student with eyes that curve upwards when he smiles (which seems to be most of the time). It turns out that Soonyoung is soulmates with Lee Jihoon, a sullen-looking boy in Seungcheol's introductory music class who also happens to major in music composition. Seungcheol feels awkward around Jihoon at first, what with his unapologetic bluntness that one might mistake for hostility, but they strike up an unlikely friendship over their shared passion for music.

The second week of classes, Seungcheol is startled awake by his alarm at the ungodly hour of 7:20. It's one of those mornings when he's grateful about the short walking distance from his apartment to the campus, and at 7:55 he makes his way into his Psychology 101 classroom, still bleary-eyed and nursing a thermos of coffee. He spots Wonwoo sitting close to the back of the room, preoccupied with going through his phone like virtually every other student in the room, mouth split in half with a yawn that is soon mirrored on Seungcheol's own face.

”Rough night?” Seungcheol asks conversationally, sinking on the seat next to Wonwoo, which also happens to be at the very end of the row.

”I slept fine. 8am classes should still be outlawed”, Wonwoo says, eyeing his thermos. ”Are you gonna drink all of that?”

Without a word, Seungcheol hands him the bottle. A middle-aged man that he pegs as their professor has entered the room, and the chatter in the room quiets down to a murmur, albeit not a silence. Seungcheol and Wonwoo take turns sipping the coffee (still too hot, although Seungcheol supposes that's the point of having a thermos) as the teacher fumbles with the computer, setting up the lecture slides.

The first ten minutes of the lecture pass as their teacher, Professor Kim Jongsuk, goes over the details of the course. Maybe it's the coffee, but Seungcheol feels more alert than he did before, vibrations thrumming through his skin as there's the usual talk of attendance and reading materials and exam dates. He listens idly to the droning of the teacher, thinking to himself that he's going to be in trouble if the rest of the lesson continues in the same dull cadence. Seungcheol likes psychology, but in his brief college career he's learned that 90-minute lectures can be hard enough to get through without boring teachers.

His gaze wandering aimlessly around the room, Seungcheol fixates on the girl two rows ahead of him who's holding her phone in a covert manner. It takes him a moment to realize she's taking a Snapchat picture of her desk, notebooks and pencil case artfully skewed for the perfect mid-lecture photo. Vaguely bemused, he averts his eyes elsewhere, scanning the rows of heads in search of something more interesting to latch onto.

Seungcheol almost doesn't notice him at first. He still remembers Jeonghan as the peculiarly beautiful boy with long lilac hair, which is why he pays no mind to the person with the black bob cut, sitting three rows ahead. Until that person turns his head, and Seungcheol catches a glimpse of a soft-looking mouth and a chiseled nose, black strands of hair curling neatly at a sharp jawline.

 _It's not him_ , he tells himself mechanically, even as his stomach makes the most sickening lurch. _It can't be him_ , and yet it is. In the end, it's the smile on Jeonghan's lips that shocks him the most. Seungcheol's only seen the ice in his stare, which is why Jeonghan's sudden warmth catches him off guard. Hooded eyes narrowed into crescents, he beams at the boy sitting next to him – as Seungcheol catches a glimpse of the said boy's profile, he realizes it's Jihoon.

The nervous thrumming in his skin now has a whole new meaning. Seungcheol follows the whispered exchange between Jeonghan and Jihoon, silently preparing himself for the moment Jeonghan notices him and the smile fades from his face. Only it never happens – after a reproachful look from Professor Kim, Jihoon and Jeonghan turn back to face the front of the lecture hall, and the hushed conversation ceases. Seungcheol feels a rush of relief, although the rational part of him knows that he's just buying more time.

He spends most of the lecture staring down the back of Jeonghan's head, eyes sometimes wandering down to trail the breadth of his shoulders or the slender fingers that are idly twirling a pen in their grasp. Jeonghan is skinnier than he remembered, what with his protruding shoulder blades and knobby wrists – Seungcheol wonders if the other boy's lost some weight since spring or if he just never noticed.

Wonwoo's shifting beside him, and it's then that Seungcheol realizes the lesson is over. In somewhat of a daze, he gathers his things, making sure to stall long enough that he can spot Jeonghan's slender silhouette disappear out of the doorway. He's scarcely aware that Wonwoo is saying something and he's saying something back, but it seems that his response is coherent enough, since the younger boy doesn't give much of a reaction.

They make their way out in a steady swarm of students. The class ended early today, which is why there are fewer people in the hallways than usual, some fortunate souls looking as though they only just woke up as they trudge along towards their classroom. ”Where's your next class?” Wonwoo asks, and the two of them halt at the foot of a staircase.

Everything's a little awkward with Wonwoo. Seungcheol likes him, and he's pretty sure Wonwoo likes him too, but they haven't spent much time together without Mingyu's presence. Two years after meeting him, Seungcheol feels like he's still learning about Jeon Wonwoo.

”Anatomy”, Seungcheol says, realizing that he didn't actually answer Wonwoo's question. ”I don't remember. I think it's on the third floor. You?”

Wonwoo shrugs. ”I've got a free period. Might go take a nap at home.”

Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow, adjusting the backpack strap on his shoulder. ”How's living with Mingyu so far?” he asks. ”Everything you ever hoped for?”

Wonwoo averts his eyes, but Seungcheol doesn't miss the barest hint of a smile on his lips. _Well, shit_ , he thinks. _At least some people are in love._ ”He can be noisy”, Wonwoo replies. ”But you already knew that. He does make a good omelette, though.”

”Tall, handsome, nice smile, great at cooking. What can't Kim Mingyu do.”

Wonwoo chuckles quietly. ”Keep fragile objects from breaking, probably? He did drop my favorite coffee mug a few days ago.”

Seungcheol is about to remark on Mingyu's clumsiness (maybe it comes with the height? he ponders – not for the first time, either), when he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns. It's Jihoon, of course, with a stone-faced Jeonghan in tow.

”Was it you I spotted in Psych 101?” Jihoon says, nodding coolly at Wonwoo. ”I didn't know you're taking psychology.”

”I-- yes”, Seungcheol forces out. ”Yeah, I'm thinking of doing all the basic courses. Jihoon, this is Jeon Wonwoo. Wonwoo, this is Lee Jihoon, he's in my music class...” he trails off before mentioning Jeonghan, unsure if he should make their acquaintance known, but a minute headshake from Jeonghan makes him keep his mouth shut.

Jihoon and Wonwoo exchange bows. ”This is Yoon Jeonghan”, Jihoon says, nodding towards the bob-haired boy at his side (it is then that Seungcheol realizes that, like an idiot, he's staring at Jeonghan's hair again). ”He's a psychology major. Freshman, like you and me. Jeonghan, this is Choi Seungcheol, we met last week.”

”Nice to meet you.” Jeonghan's face remains impassive, and if Seungcheol didn't know better, he would never guess that they've met before. It's a relief, but at the same time it makes him nervous, because has absolutely no idea what Jeonghan is thinking.

Wonwoo nods at Jeonghan. ”I like your hair.”

”I'm not sure if you're making fun of me.” His tone is as breezy as ever, but there's a brittle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The silence that follows is short yet tense. Seungcheol glances at Wonwoo; briefly, he looks taken aback, but the expression is gone almost as soon as it appears.

”I'm not”, Wonwoo says, matter-of-fact. Seungcheol feels as though he's watching a tennis match as his eyes dart from Wonwoo to Jeonghan – Jeonghan stares at Wonwoo for a moment, his rigid little smile wavering, before he nods.

”O- _kay_ ”, Jihoon murmurs just as Seungcheol says, ”shit, I'm gonna be late for class.” The best thing is, he doesn't even have to lie. ”See you on Wednesday, Jihoon. It was nice meeting you, Jeonghan.” His gaze hovers somewhere around Jeonghan's chin, but in a sudden rush of – bravery? No, Jeonghan isn't that terrifying – he looks up, steeling himself for the familiar spurring of his heartbeat as he meets a pair of hooded eyes.

”Bye, Seungcheol”, Jeonghan drawls, making Seungcheol glower at him, _just because_.

Somehow he manages to get through his classes, sneaking in a power nap at the school library on his free period. After school he has rugby practice, where he is confronted by just how little cardio he managed to squeeze in last summer between working and trying not to die of a heatstroke. It's not until sometime after seven that he makes his way home, hair still damp from the shower and muscles heavy in a surefire sign that he's going to be sore tomorrow.

Seungcheol's just changed into his sweatpants, rummaging the fridge for anything edible, when his phone rings. ”Hi, Mom”, he says, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he picks up a box of Chinese leftovers from the other night. (Cooking is the one thing he still hasn't mastered when it comes to living alone.) ”What's up?”

 _”Seungcheol!”_ And although he thought he was over the initial homesickness, there's a twist in his chest at her familiar voice. _”I haven't heard from you in a while. How's school?”_

”Fine”, he says, pushing the thought aside. ”Busy, though. Classes and practice have barely started and I already have a lot of work on my plate.” He pops the cardboard container in the microwave and sets the timer to two minutes.

_”Have you made any new friends?”_

Seungcheol groans, ”Mom, I'm not in first grade.” She laughs on the other end of the line, and his small frown softens into a smile. ”But yeah, I've made a few. The people in my class seem nice. I've even made some friends from other faculties.”

_”That's nice, honey. You always did get along with people well.”_

She's right about that – he's never really had trouble socializing with people. It's the making friends, _real_ friends, part that Seungcheol sometimes struggles with. Not because people don't like him – if anything, from an outsider's point of view there's a certain warmth, a certain solidness to his character that makes people flock to him.

It's just that while a lot of people are interested in Seungcheol, he isn't all that interested in them. Which is why he's always tended to latch on to the few that have managed to catch his eye, those that carry something special in them.

He grimaces at his own thoughts. _Never thought I was the pretentious type._ ”Having Mingyu and Wonwoo here doesn't hurt”, he says. ”Well, Wonwoo's shy, but you know Mingyu. Everyone likes him.” There's a funny feeling as he watches the microwave timer count down, the digital numbers shifting before his eyes, and his left arm itches. He turns off the machine a second before the timer can reach zero.

Seungcheol vaguely pays attention to his mother's speech as she recounts seeing Hansol and his parents at the grocery store last weekend. He reminds himself to call Hansol – he doesn't usually have to, but it's the first time in ages that they're not attending the same school (poor Hansol, a year younger than him and Mingyu, just started senior year).

_”Did Hansol tell you about the countdown?”_

Seungcheol stills, fingers loosening around a pair of chopsticks. ”About what?”

There's a pause on the other end. _”Oh, I thought you knew. I think he'd like to tell you, himself--”_

”Mom, you can't take it back. What countdown? Did Hansol get his numbers?” The question seems silly in all of its arbitrariness, because what else could it be, really?

Not to mention that the real question burning in the forefront of Seungcheol's mind is: _How come he didn't tell me?_

 _”Well, I only saw a glimpse”_ , his mother says, almost defensive. _”It was quick, I couldn't even tell how long he's got.”_

”You don't know if Yuna's got her numbers yet?” He already knows to expect the answer. ”Damn, it must be rough”, he mutters, picking at his food. ”They've been dating for what, almost two years? He has to feel like shit – they both do.”

It's a testament to the sudden weight of the conversation that his mother doesn't chide him for swearing. _”You should wait until he decides to tell you”_ , she says. _”I shouldn't have said anything. It's not really my business.”_

”Why hasn't he told me already?” Seungcheol realizes he sounds whiny, and he hates it. ”I told him as soon as I got mine.”

_”Maybe he thought it'd be a sore spot for you.”_

Seungcheol and his mother hardly talk about Jeonghan, and he's more than happy about that. It's not because he can't handle listening to her words – it's the unsaid that weighs on him, makes him close up and tune out the world. Now, though, Seungcheol thinks of Jeonghan, and there's a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat.

”Mom, he goes here”, he chokes out. ”Jeonghan. He goes to my school.”

 _”Your school?”_ his mother repeats, bewildered.

”Yup”, he says, dragging out the _p_. ”He's friends with Jihoon, too. The guy from my music class. We share a class together. Pretty funny, isn't it?”

_”Calm down, Seungcheol. You sound like you're losing your mind.”_

_I_ am _losing it!_ the high school drama club member in him wants to cry out. ”I think he might be stalking me”, Seungcheol says instead. ”This can't be a coincidence. Can it?”

_”It's not supposed to be a coincidence. It's–”_

”Predetermined. Yeah.” He rubs his temples, the long day and restless night suddenly hitting him like a sack of bricks. ”Mom, I was actually just sitting down for dinner”, he says, ”and I have some schoolwork to do.”

_”Sure, sweetie. We'll talk later.”_

After they end the call, Seungcheol resumes his meal of slightly dried rice and tofu in black bean sauce. He goes through his homework in a manner that can only be described as 'half-assed', but hey, it's only the second week of classes. He has plenty of time to catch up.

He's scrolling through Netflix for something to watch, mindless fluff that will clear his head momentarily from the mess inside it, when his phone goes off with a notification. It's Facebook, a private message by the look of it, from a certain Yoon Jeonghan.

In his profile picture, Jeonghan is looking off to the side, his features barely visible from the hair blown in his face by an invisible gust of wind. It's a nice shot, Seungcheol observes idly, all the while the more rational part of him wonders, _How did he find me?_ Seungcheol didn't even know you could message someone that wasn't your friend. He clearly needs to change his privacy settings.

Jeonghan's message is curt, void of pleasantries. _Don't tell Jihoon._

Seungcheol snorts. ”As if”, he murmurs, typing a response. _wasnt planning on it. how did you get my info?_

There's an inexplicable sense of trepidation in him as he follows the three dots, a signal that Jeonghan's typing. He's quick. _We go to the same school_ , soon followed by another message. _We have mutual friends_ , and _You were the 1st search result. Wasn't hard._

”Fuck you”, Seungcheol whispers under his breath, although the words lack any real heat. _Friends?_ he wonders. As in plural? This is all starting to feel like some Shakespearean play where everyone is secretly connected to each other. He contemplates asking Jeonghan about it, but decides he'd rather not know for now.

His fingertips ghost over the keys as he considers what to say. In the end he just types, _jh wont hear it from me._

 _Thanks_ , Jeonghan writes, and then he's gone. Seungcheol is left blinking at his screen, because that must be the first cordial word they've exchanged since they first met.

He observes that Jeonghan did not send him a friend request. It shouldn't feel like an insult, and yet somehow it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) / [tumblr](http://jeonghansgal.tumblr.com)


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so boom boom era has barely started and i'm already half-dead lol
> 
> how great is the album though?? i was pretty much listening to all the songs on loop while writing this but especially [_i don't know_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghqFzhY_bv4)
> 
> i'm hoping i'll have another chapter out before the holidays but we'll see! uni is trying its hardest to keep me from having a life rn

Wonwoo is visiting his family for the weekend, so Seungcheol and Hansol spend Saturday night at Mingyu's (”We're gonna have a _sleepover_!” Mingyu says in a high-pitched voice as they're making plans over the phone, and Seungcheol might think he was being sarcastic, did he not sound genuinely excited). It's been a few weeks since Seungcheol last saw Hansol, and he hadn't realized just how much he's missed him until the boy shuffles in through the door. Hansol's tousled dark fringe is peeking out from under the hood, his hands shoved inside the pockets of the oversized green hoodie, and he looks younger than Seungcheol remembered.

He wondered if it would feel different between them, somehow, but things quickly slide into place. The three of them are lounging on the couch, going back and forth between talking about mundane topics and bickering over which pizza toppings to get while Mingyu's bony toes are digging into Seungcheol's side, and there's such a warmth in his chest that he thinks it might burst.

Compared to his own tiny apartment, Wonwoo and Mingyu's flat is spacious enough, with a decent-sized bedroom, a kitchen and a living room. There are fragments of both of their lives lying around, from Wonwoo's extensive book collection to Mingyu's video games, along with some details that seem like a joint effort, such as the earthy tones of the curtains and the freakishly neat rows of shoes in the entrance hall. Seungcheol's eyes trace the polaroid pictures taped to the walls, taken with Wonwoo's retro camera, and he recognizes himself in many of them – often with a goofy grin plastered on his white overexposed face, sometimes a bottle or a can of alcohol clutched in his hand. He looks happy, he notes – they all do.

Seungcheol averts his gaze to Hansol, who's laughing at something Mingyu said, the silly sound all-too familiar to his ears. He glances down at Hansol's arms, covered by sleeves that reach almost down to his fingertips. It's a bizarre feeling, knowing something that the other person doesn't know you know. Throughout the week, Seungcheol has been almost unbearably tempted to ask Mingyu if he's heard anything, but something always seemed to stop him before he could speak the words.

Maybe it was the fact that if Mingyu didn't know, Seungcheol would have to be the one to tell him. Mingyu, for all his virtues, is not at all good at acting, and it would've been hard to get through the night without Hansol noticing that something was off.

”Hyung? Is chili pepper okay?”

”Have them only do one half”, Seungcheol says. Mingyu nods and proceeds to call the restaurant, all the while Hansol is talking about his classes and how _you guys never told me senior year was this much work_ and how he's lucky he's bilingual because at least he can afford to slack off in English. It is only after Mingyu hangs up and tries to start the second debate of the night (which movie to watch on Netflix) when Hansol goes oddly quiet. Mingyu seems to notice, as well, and the conversation ceases into an awkward standstill as Seungcheol tries to pretend he's preoccupied with his phone. He feels like he's been holding his breath by the time Hansol speaks.

”So, I finally got my digits”, he says, rolling up his sleeve. Seungcheol's eyes fall on the numbers, so similar to the ones that marred his own skin mere months ago. 28220854, he reads off Hansol's arm. ”I got them last week, actually. I was gonna tell you guys, but I needed some time to... adjust to it all, I guess.”

So, Mingyu didn't know, either. Even without Hansol's admission, Seungcheol would've been able to tell by the wide-eyed look of wonder on Mingyu's face, void of any semblance of pretense. It's not Seungcheol's brightest moment, but he feels a tad victorious over the discovery that he wasn't the only one left in the dark. ”Sore spot”, his mother called it. _No, it isn't._

”I'm not sure what to say”, Mingyu says. ”Congratulations? Condolences? How are you feeling, anyway?”

”Not that great? I dunno.” Hansol shrugs. ”I wasn't expecting it to happen. I mean, I knew it was gonna happen someday, but it didn't seem real at the time. I thought it was just some vague thing in the far-off future”, he says somewhat bitterly, and Seungcheol finds he can relate to that all too well. ”Definitely more far-off than graduation, and I only started my senior year. Maybe more far-off than Yuna and I...”

Hansol trails off, and Seungcheol and Mingyu exchange quick looks. ”She could still get her digits”, Seungcheol points out. The statement is optimistic to a foolish extent, but he's not used to seeing Hansol like this, and he finds the sight disconcerting. ”You might still be soulmates. There are couples like that out there – couples that were dating when they found out they were a match.”

”Yeah, but what's the likelihood of that happening, anyway?” Eyebrows knitted in a troubled frown, Hansol suddenly looks older than his age. ”I didn't even want to tell her at first, but I had to, of course. Things between us have been weird since she found out.”

Seungcheol experiences no surprise at that. It is common for relationships to become troubled, even to fall apart, once the countdown appears. ”God, that really sucks”, he says – it's not the most intelligent answer, but he figures Hansol can appreciate the genuine sentiment. ”You know you can always call or text us, right? If you wanna talk about it – talk about anything.” On Seungcheol's right, Mingyu is nodding his head empathically.

”I know”, Hansol says. ”I just... don't even know what to say, really. Things with Yuna have been going so well, and then _this_ happens. Maybe you had the right idea, hyung.”

Seungcheol blinks, shifting awkwardly in his place. ”I only did what felt right for me”, he says. Which is almost a lie in itself, because half the time he's not even sure, but he's not ready to admit that. Speaking the words out loud might make them more real. ”But this is your life we're talking about.”

”Yeah, you should think about it”, Mingyu points out. ”I mean, what happens when Yuna gets her digits?”

Seungcheol can only think of a handful of times that he's seen Hansol upset, and he resists the urge to wince as the younger boy frowns at Mingyu. ”What, you think she would dump me?”

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then opens it again. Seungcheol feels like he's watching a fish on dry land. ”That's not what he meant”, he cuts in. ”It's just that--”

”Well, she might.”

”Mingyu!”

” _You_ might!” Mingyu argues. ”You haven't felt it. I had crushes before I met Wonwoo, but it's not the same. Why do you think more people don't stay with their old partners after meeting their soulmate?”

”Seungcheol doesn't even have a partner and you don't see him playing house with that one guy.”

”Hey, don't pull me into this”, Seungcheol almost snaps. ”Mingyu's right about one thing.” He glowers the tall boy into silence before he can retort something that's surely along the lines of, _One thing? How come just_ one _?_ ”You need to think about this. But not now, not with the two of us here messing up your thoughts.”

Things do settle after that, although it seems as though the dynamic between them remains slightly off-kilter for the remainder of the night. They gorge on pizza and finish a few cans of beer and watch _Furious 7_ for the third time, making mindless observations about the movie, picking apart at especially outlandish parts (which the script has in abundance). It's comfortable – the cushions enveloping Seungcheol's back in a soft embrace, his limbs warm and loose from the alcohol, eyelids a little heavy as he follows the explosions on screen.

And yet there's an unusual sense of awareness – of himself, of Mingyu's ever-tapping fingers, of how Hansol keeps glancing at his inner arm. Like he's following each passing second.

 

 

In high school, Seungcheol used to think that free periods were the greatest invention in the history of the educational system. In college, though, he's learning to despise them. He finds he'd much rather sit through three or four classes in a row and be done for the day than end up killing time at the campus library just because some of his professors think that 4-5pm is in any way an appropriate time for a lecture.

On Wednesday, he finds himself at the library again, ambling through the silent corridors. He's clutching his phone in his hand like a compass, although it's only there to remind him of the title and author of a book he needs for his psychology class. The book exam isn't due in ages, but he thought that he'd think ahead for once and get it out of the way before the likely influx of last-minute exam takers, all looking for their copy of _Introduction to Psychology_.

He turns to the aisle H-L, mindlessly assuming it to be empty like the others, when he spots Jeonghan. He's standing somewhere between H and I and craning his neck to read the spines of the books in the upper row, brow furrowed in a delicate frown. Seungcheol's body is seized by a fight-or-flight dilemma, and he is unbelievably tempted to turn on his heels before Jeonghan notices him and to hide behind the shelves until his beloved _soulmate_ , he thinks sourly, is gone.

 _You're being ridiculous_ , he tells himself. _We go to the same school now. We know the same people. We're bound to keep running into each other._ If Seungcheol can't get used to seeing Jeonghan around, he might as well drop out of college – hell, he'd probably have to leave Seoul altogether, because who knows when they'll run into each other at some random coffee shop.

Fueled by anger at his own cowardice, Seungcheol chooses to fight. Which really just means wandering pseudo-casually towards the shelf Jeonghan's looking at, because it also happens to be the shelf where his book is supposed to be. He marvels how long it takes Jeonghan to notice him – Seungcheol is a rugby player, after all, and certainly built like one. When Jeonghan spares the intruder a glance, his eyes almost seem to flash, lips curving into a wry sort-of smile.

”Hello, Seungcheol”, he says airily.

”Hi”, Seungcheol mutters, feeling guarded. He's always guarded around Jeonghan, it seems. Maybe it's because during every one of their interactions, he's always felt like there's something sly about Jeonghan. Like he's secretly mocking him.

They don't say any more than that. Seungcheol is pointedly aware of the short distance between them as he scans the shelves, looking for the familiar title. He almost misses it – the book is burrowed in a corner on the second to bottom row, and the black letters are not that easy to make out against the deep blue background (there's a poor design choice if he ever saw one). He bends forward to pick up the book, sparing a disinterested glance at the cover, when Jeonghan's sharp voice speaks out, ” _Wait._ ”

Dumbfounded, Seungcheol looks at him. Jeonghan's not looking back, though, but his eyes are fixed on the book Seungcheol's holding. ”Was that the last copy?” Jeonghan demands.

”Uh, I think so.”

”That's my book.”

” _Your_ book?” Seungcheol breathes a short laugh. ”I don't think so. It's not like I snatched it from your hand or something.”

”Yeah, but I was here first”, Jeonghan says petulantly. He's glowering at Seungcheol now, jaw defiant and tense, and for once there's no mockery behind his words – only annoyance. The realization makes Seungcheol feel powerful, like he's finally got the upper hand.

”Not my fault you were slower than me”, he drawls, taking in the way Jeonghan's nostrils flare just the slightest bit. This is foolish, he realizes. It's hardly more than playground taunts, and yet something in him rejoices at the silent venom in Jeonghan's stare.

”Look”, Jeonghan says. ”You're doing this course for your elective studies, right? You've got until the end of this year to do the exam. I need that book for our tutorial sessions. Every other copy is taken and I'm not gonna pay 80 000 won to buy it from a bookstore.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. ”You know you can just download this stuff online, right?” To be frank, he's not even sure why he keeps pushing back. Jeonghan's right – it's not like he really needs the book at this point in the semester. If it were another person, he most likely would've given in already, given himself a pat on the back for his selfless deed of the day.

And yet.

The duality of impulses within Seungcheol is almost fascinating. There's a part of him that's undeniably vindictive, a part that seeks someone to blame for the predicament he's in, even though he knows that Jeonghan hardly asked to be bound to him by some mystical force. But there's also that said mystical force that seems to rattle against his ribcage at the sight of his soulmate's resentful expression, a voice stronger than his conscience that echoes: _You caused this_.

”Forget it.” And damn, Jeonghan could freeze oceans with that tone. Seungcheol watches him storm off in a huff, and it's almost a bit comical, except that The Voice is still very much trying to tell him that he's a piece of shit.

”Shut up”, he whispers, glancing down at the book in his hands. Wondering if the argument had as little to do with it for Jeonghan as it did for himself.

 

 

Seungcheol hasn't told Mingyu about Jeonghan studying at the university. He's not sure why, because it's not like Mingyu won't be finding it out for himself sooner rather than later, but with everything that's been going on lately he's wanted to avoid that particular conversation. Because he just _knows_ that Mingyu would ask him what he's going to do about the issue (he's pretty sure it qualifies as such), and Seungcheol isn't too keen on admitting that, so far, the only tactic he's devised is to pretend that there is no issue.

The campus cafeteria at twelve o'clock is a nightmare – the lines are too long, the food is always running out, and it's almost impossible to find a seat that isn't already taken. (More than once, Seungcheol has felt tempted to toss someone's backpack into the nearest trash bin – that'll teach people to reserve seats.) It doesn't help with his frustration that Seungcheol doesn't have classes on Fridays, so the only reason he's here is to keep Mingyu company on his lunch break. Well, there's also the cheap food factor.

”Maybe we should just sit on someone's lap”, Mingyu says as they're awkwardly navigating the room, looking for a pair of free seats. ”Or we could just go stand next to someone and try to look intimidating. Put my height and your muscles to good use.”

Someone barges past Seungcheol, almost causing him to drop his tray. ”You know, that's starting to seem like a good idea”, he grumbles, holding back a curse. ”If only Wonwoo was here. He could death glare everyone out of our way.”

”Do you think I could pull it off?” Mingyu screws his face into an expression that's less quietly menacing and more wounded. Seungcheol is about to tell him this when his ears pick up his name from the cacophony of voices in the room. Scanning the cafeteria, it takes him a moment to notice Jihoon and Soonyoung, sitting side by side at the far end of a table nearby. Soonyoung's waving at them to come over, while Jihoon watches them, his expression a mixture of amusement and impatience.

”Soonyoung! God, I could kiss him right now”, Mingyu says. ”Or maybe not. Is that his soulmate next to him? He does match the description of short and grumpy.”

”Yeah, that's Jihoon. Let's go”, Seungcheol says. He's already taking steps towards Jihoon and Soonyoung's table before he realizes who's with them. As his incredible luck would have it, sitting opposite to the pair with their back turned on Seungcheol is someone with dark jaw-length hair.

Of course.

”When we go over there, don't freak out”, he warns Mingyu. ”Don't even say anything. Just act normal.”

Mingyu frowns. ”Why the hell would I freak out?”

”You'll see.”

The space between the tables is so small that they have to awkwardly shimmy their way through. There is a free seat on either side, one next to Soonyoung and another beside Jeonghan, and Seungcheol wishes he'd thought this through a little more when Mingyu, who's been walking on his right, naturally crosses over to Jihoon and Soonyoung's side. Meanwhile Seungcheol is forced to set his tray next to Jeonghan, who is pointedly not looking at him.

”You two looked like a pair of lost puppies over there”, Jihoon drawls. ”The people next to us just left. You got lucky.”

 _Lucky indeed_ , Seungcheol thinks and glances at Mingyu. Impressively enough, his face remains neutral, but the way he's staring at Jeonghan is a tad too intense to be passed off as common curiosity. Striving for nonchalance, Seungcheol extends his leg under the table and kicks Mingyu lightly on the shin, the impact not enough to earn a cry of pain but enough to break the awkward stare.

Brief introductions are made. Seungcheol watches the proverbial light bulb go off in Mingyu's brain at the mention of Jeonghan – it's enough to make him feel weary, because he just knows he's going to have to answer a lot of questions later on. Meanwhile, he's hyperaware of Jeonghan's warm presence at his side, the other boy's body heat wafting around him, despite that they're not even touching.

It is Seungcheol's belief that every uncomfortable situation needs a Soonyoung. Even if he's noticed any tension in the air, he doesn't show it, instead complaining about his anatomy classes and asking Mingyu if he's studied for the upcoming quiz and talking about some horror movie marathon night that Jihoon refuses to attend with him.

”Forget it. I'm not sitting through _Attack of the Killer Tomatoes_ a second time”, Jihoon deadpans. ”Can't Jeonghan go with you?”

”Are you kidding me? After that stunt he helped Seokmin pull last Halloween?”

”'Helped'? I was the mastermind”, Jeonghan drawls, resting his chin on his hand. ”I just had Seokminnie do the dirty work.”

”I knew he didn't come up with that doll idea”, Soonyoung mutters. ”All the more reason to not get stuck in a dark room with you. What about you, Mingyu? Seungcheol?”

Mingyu shrugs, ”I could go.”

”And you, hyung?”

Seungcheol hesitates. Knowing that Jihoon and Soonyoung are friends with Jeonghan, he feels a little weird inserting himself into their group. Without thinking, he glances at Jeonghan, who seems more interested in nibbling at his lunch than listening to the conversation at hand. Zero input there, then.

It all seems so childish, though. Breaking up a friendship because of this... _whatever this is_ , he thinks. A hot mess, definitely. But if Jeonghan hated the idea, wouldn't he have told him once he found out Seungcheol and Jihoon were friends? Based on Seungcheol's run-ins with Jeonghan, has the boy ever gone out of his way to accommodate him?

Damn, this whole thing is giving him a headache.

”Sure”, Seungcheol says, ”I don't think I have anything else that night.” There. Nice and half-committal.

”You're not scared?” Jeonghan says quietly, and Seungcheol looks at him, taken aback. Jeonghan flashes him a slow smile – more of a smirk, really – , and Seungcheol's throat goes dry at the sight.

”Not of giant man-eating tomatoes, no”, he says, his voice coming out raw. Seungcheol's trying to maintain his composure all the while his mind is yelling at him, _What the hell was that?_ He can practically feel Mingyu's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head.

Jeonghan watches him for a moment, mouth twisted in a crooked half-grin, before he turns away. ”Soonyoung, you should talk less and eat more. Doesn't your class start in”, he glances at his phone, ”seven minutes?”

”Shit!” Soonyoung and Mingyu exclaim in unison. ”I still have to go to the bathroom”, Soonyoung whines as he starts gulfing down the rest of his lunch at such a speed that it's enough to distract Seungcheol for the moment. He's pretty sure rice isn't meant to be consumed that quickly.

”Do you have any classes, Jihoon?” he asks.

”Nope. Had one lecture at nine and now I'm free”, Jihoon says, drawing idle designs with some water that's spilled on his tray. ”How about you two?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, ”it's my day off.”

”I've got nothing, but I have to head home to pack. Gonna go see the family”, Jeonghan replies.

”Tell them I said hi.”

Jeonghan smiles, ”will do.” Seungcheol finds himself wondering if he has a big family, if his parents are still together, whether he has any siblings or not. It's one of those times when it hits him that even though they're soulmates, he actually knows very little about Jeonghan.

He wonders is Jeonghan is curious about him, too. Even a little. He wonders whether or not that really matters.

Mingyu, Soonyoung and Jeonghan leave a few minutes later, disappearing into the mass of other students whose lessons seem to be starting soon, judging by how everyone's scrambling to join the growing line. Seungcheol is left alone with Jihoon, which ought to be a relief, except he's barely managed to pick up his chopsticks when Jihoon says:

”What just happened?”

”Huh?”

”There was some kind of a weird vibe going on”, Jihoon points out, eyes narrowing. ”All I know is that everything was fine before you and Mingyu showed up, and all of a sudden everyone was acting weird. I wanted to drown myself in my water glass.”

”It was just awkward. Mingyu doesn't know you or Jeonghan.”

”Yeah, but Mingyu wasn't the problem, was he?”

Seungcheol sighs, not even bothering to hide the irritation seeping into his voice. Today has barely started, and he's already sick of it. ”I dunno what you thought you saw, but you're overthinking it”, he says, picking at his kimchi.

”Hn. Maybe”, Jihoon mutters. Just as Seungcheol thinks he's dropped the issue, though, he hears the faint words, whispered in a mocking tone:

” _You're not scared_?”

He almost throws his tray at Jihoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi or talk about svt/jeongcheol with me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) / [tumblr](http://jeonghansgal.tumblr.com)


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u to everyone who's left me comments here or on twitter, every single one of them makes me happy!! i usually don't respond if i can't think of anything other than a simple thank u but i seriously appreciate them all!
> 
> this chapter is a bit shorter than the previous ones but i wanted to have it out before the holidays and next week's gonna be super hectic for me. get ready for a lot of italics lmao
> 
> (listening to: hyorin & jooyoung - [_erase_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQcHupU6YPo))

Seungcheol is starting to think that his subconscious has a will of its own when on Monday night, after an hour or two of mindless browsing, he finds himself staring at Yoon Jeonghan's Facebook profile.

It's as mysterious as he remembered. He can see the names of Jeonghan's former high school and current university, the latter of which he already knew about, of course. He knows that Jeonghan is from and lives in Seoul. He knows that Jeonghan is a person who likes art galleries, based on his header photo of some paintings Seungcheol doesn't recognize. He knows that Jeonghan's birthday is on October 4th.

He opens another tab, goes on Instagram and starts typing Jeonghan's name in the search bar. He's not really expecting anything, when the username 'yoonjh_1004' grabs his attention. The profile picture is one of Jeonghan crouched on his knees with a quaint-looking cobbled street in the background, petting an orange cat. His hair is already black and cut shorter in the photo, so Seungcheol figures it must be fairly recent.

 _'This account is private.'_ He feels like the empty page is mocking him. It seems that Jeonghan's social media persona is as closed-off and intangible as his real one – to Seungcheol, anyway.

He clicks himself back on Facebook and, after a moment of hesitation, opens his messages. Jeonghan's last response is on top, and Seungcheol stares at the single word ( _Thanks_ , which manages to not sound grateful at all), mouse cursor hovering over the conversation window.

As a child, Seungcheol had a bad habit of picking at his wounds. Once the cut on his knee or a scraped elbow had stopped bleeding, the skin around the wound still tender and red, he would poke and prod at it until the wound tore open again.

He clicks open the conversation and starts to write slowly, measuring each word in his head. _i returned that book you wanted_. Or _needed_? Which one sounds better? After thinking it over, he changes the word to 'needed' and adds _jsyk_ at the end of the sentence. Just as he's about to send the message, however, Seungcheol hesitates.

He knows there's a decent chance that he'll regret this. In fact, he'll probably regret it the moment the message is sent and he can no longer take back those awkward, quietly prodding words. But in addition to the voice of reason, there is also the voice of an eight-year-old kid with a scab on his knee, telling him, _How bad can it really be?_

He presses 'send'. The words pop up on his computer screen in a bright blue bubble, and Seungcheol feels almost like he's been swept into third-person perspective, somehow beyond himself as he's first swept by a wave of relief, then caught in the crossfires of self-loathing and regret.

”It was just a fucking message”, he tells himself as he bounds up from his seat, crossing over to the fridge to pour himself a glass of coke. He's filled with a nervous energy and feels the urge to move, to do something other than sit and wait for Jeonghan's response. ”It's not like I sent him a goddamn love confession. Shit...” Maybe Wonwoo was right about his swearing getting worse when he's anxious.

Seungcheol is rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, looking for something edible (he really needs to go grocery shopping more often) when his phone goes off. Damn, Jeonghan was quick. Eyeing his phone like it's a bomb that's about to detonate, he unlocks the screen to discover that the message is not from Jeonghan at all. It's from Mingyu, which is only marginally comforting under present circumstances.

_why r u not answering ur phone??_

Seungcheol heaves a sigh – from disappointment or relief, he's not sure. He did notice that Mingyu had called him during rugby practice, twice actually, but he managed to block the memory out of his brain to postpone the inevitable conversation. He's halfway through typing a wishy-washy response when Mingyu calls him.

”Hello?”

_”Are you still alive?”_

”Barely holding on”, Seungcheol drawls, slumping down in his computer chair. ”I had practice and forgot to call you back. What's up?” He's surprised it took this long for Mingyu to call him. He was fully expecting to be pestered about Jeonghan some time over the weekend.

 _”Nothing much. Wonwoo and I had a date on Saturday. Sunday was Mom's birthday, we had brunch at home.”_ Mingyu's voice sounds muffled.

”Why are you always eating while we're talking on the phone?”

 _”Veterinary school is hard, okay? I have to multitask”_ , Mingyu grumbles. _”I'm supposed to be cramming for that anatomy quiz even as we speak.”_

”No wonder you called me, then.”

_”Very funny. Almost as funny as finding out that your soulmate has been going to our school all this time and you didn't tell me you knew.”_

”Why does it have to be a big deal?” Seungcheol says, although not without thinking to himself: _You're a hypocrite, Choi Seungcheol_. ”Thousands of people go to our university.”

_”Well, 'thousands of people' weren't sitting at the same table as you.”_

Seungcheol can't even argue with that. He glances at the conversation window on his computer, but Jeonghan still hasn't responded. ”I'm surprised you recognized him”, he says truthfully. ”It's been months.”

 _”At first I didn't”_ , Mingyu says. _”At first I just thought he looked kinda familiar. Then I noticed that deer-in-headlights look on your face and I got suspicious. Then I heard his name and everything clicked.”_

”Wonwoo actually met him already. He didn't know who he was, of course.”

_”Maybe we can go on double dates! Like that horror movie marathon we both signed up for, for some reason.”_

”Look who's being funny now”, Seungcheol says dryly. ”Besides, I don't even think Jeonghan is going.”

_”Out of all the things that are wrong about what I just said, you went with that one?”_

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. ”I'm gonna hang up on you, now.”

He doesn't, of course. There's a span of silence as he listens to Mingyu's chewing, bored enough to try to guess what he might be eating, when he sees movement on his computer screen. Jeonghan's words stare at him from against a gray backdrop.

 _That was quick_ , the message reads.

_”Hyung?”_

”I'm here”, Seungcheol says, moving to cradle his phone between his ear and shoulder as he types a response. _i'm a fast reader._ Which is a big fat lie – he read just about half a chapter of _Introduction to Psychology_ before deciding that the exam could wait. He's got enough things on his plate at the moment.

”Look, I'm actually in the middle of something”, he speaks into the phone. ”Lunch tomorrow? Around 12? You can make fun of me then all you want.”

_”Fine. You're coming with us to that horror thing on Wednesday, right?”_

Seungcheol watches the three dots on his screen as Jeonghan types. ”Yeah”, he says. ”Yeah, I'll see you there.”

They hang up just as Jeonghan responds. _Liar._

_do u have any proof?_

_I don't need any. We're soulmates, aren't we_ , followed by an angel emoji. Seungcheol snorts at the little cherub and types out his thoughts.

_u sure seem devilish enough_

There's a longer pause before Jeonghan responds with a screenshot of Seungcheol's message: _do u have any proof?_

Seungcheol doesn't realize he's grinning until he catches his reflection on the window. Half of him wants to say something witty, but at the same time it seems like the conversation has run its natural course, and he doesn't want to come off like he's really looking to initiate one in the first place. He was just doing Jeonghan a favor, that's all. Seungcheol closes the chat window on his computer and picks up his phone instead, sending Jeonghan the detective emoji. _Good enough._

As he does his homework and makes a meal out of some scraps he found in the fridge and, eventually, crawls into bed with heavy lids and the taste of peppermint toothpaste on his tongue, his thoughts keeps drifting back to the conversation. To Jeonghan.

 

 

”Seungcheol! Right on time!”

Soonyoung already seems buzzed from the bottle of ambiguous-looking alcohol he's holding. Less than a hundred people have gathered at the small indie theater, most of whom Seungcheol doesn't recognize. ”Who's throwing this, anyway?” he asks, looking around in wonder.

”Journalism majors. I heard one of them has a dad who knows someone who knows the owner of this place”, Soonyoung says, shrugging. ”One of my old classmates was involved in planning this thing and he got me seats.”

”Is Mingyu here already?”

”Yeah. He and Jeonghan went to the bathroom.”

Seungcheol could swear his heart skips a beat. Number one, because he was absolutely not prepared to see Jeonghan tonight. Number two, because the thought of Mingyu and Jeonghan alone in a single confined space unnerves him.

”Want some of my drink?”

”Yes, please”, he breathes out, taking the offered bottle. ”I didn't bring my own drinks. You didn't tell me alcohol was allowed.”

”It's college. Alcohol is always allowed”, Soonyoung points out. Not entirely accurate, but Seungcheol can appreciate the use of gross hyperboles for rhetoric purposes. He's a lyricist, after all. ”You're coming to the after party, right? We can't drink too much here in case someone decides to throw up all over their seat, but some of us are headed to a bar afterwards.”

Seungcheol is about to respond when he spots Mingyu's towering frame from the corner of his vision, followed by Jeonghan's shorter figure. ”Hyung! We're going to get snacks before it starts, are you coming?” Mingyu says, nonchalant as ever despite the look of incredulity Seungcheol is trying to convey to him.

”Sure”, he says, glancing at Jeonghan, who quirks a barely noticeable, placid smile. ”I'm starving, anyway.”

Next to the snack shelves, there's an old-fashioned popcorn machine, managed by a long-suffering employee who probably isn't getting paid enough to put up with a herd of tipsy college students. The smell of butter almost has Seungcheol salivating as he picks up a bag of Sour Skittles and gets in line for the popcorn, listening to Mingyu grumble about the astronomical prices. Once Mingyu joins him in line, Seungcheol glances back to confirm that Jeonghan is still a distance away and browsing the snack selection, before he hisses:

”Did you say anything to him?”

”Huh?”

”Jeonghan. In the bathroom. Did you two talk?”

”We just exchanged a few words”, Mingyu says. ”You know, small talk. Nothing worth mentioning.”

Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow at him, and Mingyu raises his in response, until it feels as though they're engaged in some strange eyebrow battle. It turns into a verbal one when Seungcheol realizes it's his turn and he and Mingyu start bickering over whether to share a large or an extra large bucket.

Around 5:55, the swarm of students begins to migrate towards the auditorium. Seungcheol, Mingyu, Soonyoung and Jeonghan find some seats in the back, and Seungcheol tries not to glower at Mingyu as the latter lingers behind to fiddle with his shoelaces, forcing Seungcheol to sit next to Jeonghan.

”I thought Soonyoung had banned you from coming”, Seungcheol says to diffuse tension, settling into the plush velvet seat. ”Something about dolls, I think.”

Jeonghan chuckles low in his throat. It's a unique sound, breathy and light. ”It's a long story”, he replies, tucking a piece of raven hair behind his ear. ”You wouldn't believe how easy it is to scare Soonyoungie. He acts brash, but I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up having nightmares about leprechauns and homicidal vegetables tonight.”

”I'm sitting right next to you”, Soonyoung says dryly from Jeonghan's left.

”It's a good thing you have my arm to cuddle during the spooky parts, then.”

”You're a terrible person”, Seungcheol observes. Jeonghan smiles a wicked grin, and the corners of his eyes curl like a feline's. It requires a bit of effort from Seungcheol to tear himself away from the sight.

It's unlike any movie showing he's ever been to. There's always some chatter in the room, people laughing at the most ridiculous scenes and loudly picking apart at the plotholes. They watch _Attack of the Killer Tomatoes_ , followed by _Leprechaun 1_ & _2_ (Soonyoung does jump at a certain part, earning a brilliant laugh from Jeonghan). After the 4.5 hours come to a close, Seungcheol's joints are aching from the excessive sitting and his eyeballs feel dry, as though someone has been rubbing sand against them.

Seungcheol and Mingyu both end up turning down the invite to the after party, although not without Soonyoung making them promise that they'll attend some random party with him next week. The quartet say their goodbyes outside the theater, and Seungcheol is caught off guard by the cool late September breeze, shivering in his jacket as he and Mingyu set out towards the subway station. ”Did you have fun?” Mingyu asks, and Seungcheol notes that he looks remarkably like a puppy when he yawns. ”I mean, it was cool, but I'm not sure I ever wanna see another horror comedy again.”

”That's too bad. I overheard some people already planning on a showing of that movie with the car tire.”

”The one that kills humans?”

”Unless there are other tire-centric films, sure.”

Mingyu chuckles at that, and the two of them lapse into a companionable silence. It's a clear and beautiful night, and the moon seems particularly big and bright to Seungcheol. In the summer, he would sometimes go for a run on nights like this one, chasing the cool breeze that was absent during the sweltering days.

”He seems nice”, Mingyu says all of a sudden. ”Jeonghan, I mean. He's a bit quiet, but I guess you just need to get him out of his shell. He seemed relaxed around you, though.”

”We didn't even speak much”, Seungcheol says, flustered.

”You didn't have to. I know what that connection feels like... It's always gonna be there, whether you like it or not.”

Seungcheol frowns. It's not as though he was unaware – if anything, he's been trying to make sense of the said connection ever since he first crossed paths with Jeonghan. Which may have been his first mistake – trying to rationalize something that is so distinctly irrational.

He wants to tell Mingyu how drawn he is to Jeonghan, yet how terrified he is to be near him. How often Jeonghan shows up in his dreams these days, sometimes warm and soft, other times the face of a nightmare, and occasionally as a wet heat that has Seungcheol waking up so hard it hurts. But the words stick to the roof of his mouth before he can as much as pry his lips open, and the next thing he knows, he and Mingyu part ways as the latter disappears inside the subway entrance.

By the time Seungcheol gets home, it's half past eleven. Although he's a night owl by habit, tonight he's feeling exceptionally worn out, and sleep takes over almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. He has blurry, confusing dreams about nothing and no one in particular, when he is brought awake by his ringtone.

The remnants of sleep form a film over his eyes as he squints at the offensively bright screen, trying to make out the name of the caller. As the letters keep swimming in and out of focus, he gives up and swipes his thumb over the green circle. ”Hello”, he mumbles, dragging a hand over his face.

_”Seungcheol? Were you asleep?”_

To his sleep-deprived mind, the voice sounds only vaguely familiar. It's like a name on the tip of his tongue, taunting and barely out of reach.

”Who is this?”

 _”Shit, so you_ were _sleeping.”_ There's a brief delay, and realization hits Seungcheol right before the words that follow. _”It's Doyoon”_ , Doyoon says. _”Sorry for waking you up. In college, you sort of learn to assume that everyone's up at the weirdest hours.”_

Seungcheol removes the phone from his ear long enough to check the time. 2:14. ”It's fine”, he murmurs, allowing his eyes to slip shut. ”What's up? I haven't heard from you in a while.” With his mind steadily becoming more operational, he starts to pick up certain details, like the faint slur in Doyoon's voice and the muffled sounds of music and chatter in the background. So, he must be at a party, then.

 _”I could say the same thing about you”_ , Doyoon drawls, which is a fair point. It's not like Seungcheol has made much contact with him since August, aside from liking the occasional Instagram post. _”Nothing out of the ordinary, school is the same as usual. I'm at some boring party and I randomly thought of you. How's freshman year treating you so far?”_

Seungcheol knows that there's more to it. If Doyoon had strictly wanted to exchange pleasantries, he would've picked another time for the call than two in the morning – he sounds intoxicated, but not to the point where phoning someone at 2am on a weekday would seem like a good idea. Hell, he probably would've just texted him, instead. Seungcheol considers telling him this, but he decides to play along, if only to be polite.

”It's alright. The workload's already piling up, but I'll manage”, he says, rolling over to lie on his back. ”People have been nice. I was at this horror movie marathon tonight with some friends.”

 _”Hold on. Let me go find somewhere more quiet.”_ Seungcheol listens as the background noise on Doyoon's end gets quieter, before there's the sound of a door closing. _”There. You were saying?”_

”Nothing that interesting. Just... you know. Schoolwork and social life and stuff.”

Doyoon chuckles, _”That's already a lot to handle.”_ There's a pause, and somehow Seungcheol's half-expecting it when he says, _”have you hooked up with anyone so far?”_

”Not yet, no.”

_”Really? College can be a lot of fun for someone without a soulmate, though.”_

”I bet”, Seungcheol says wryly. ”Where are you going with this?”

Doyoon manages to not sound flustered. _”Have you fucked anyone since last summer?”_

Seungcheol swallows. Doyoon's voice is low and guttural, and although a part of Seungcheol is annoyed at being woken up for what seems like an invitation to phone sex, he's starting to feel undeniably turned on.

”No”, he says, spreading his thighs a little further apart. ”There's been no one lately.”

 _”No one?”_ Doyoon echoes with a teasing lilt. _”Have you been touching yourself, then?”_

”I-- yes.” He heard Doyoon hum on the other end.

_”Have you been fingering yourself? Or do you prefer toys?”_

”Fuck”, Seungcheol mutters inadvertedly, earning a laugh from Doyoon. The bastard. ”Sometimes, yeah. With my fingers.”

 _”Good”_ , Doyoon says. _”Can you do it for me right now?”_

Seungcheol licks his lips. He can feel himself already getting hard – he never thought of himself as the type to get off on taking orders disguised as requests, but the cool, unabashed confidence in Doyoon's voice has him fumbling for the top drawer of his nightstand.

As his fingers enclose around a bottle of lube, his unhelpful mind supplies him with the thought of Jeonghan. It throws him off slightly, but Seungcheol manages to push the thought aside. It's not like they're together, he reminds himself. It's not like he owes Jeonghan any real semblance of loyalty.

_”Are you all lubed up?”_

Seungcheol puts his phone on speaker mode and tugs the sweatpants lower on his hips, the cotton brushing against the sensitive tip of his cock. ”Gimme a minute”, he says, already breathless.

_”There's no rush. Get your fingers nice and slick for me.”_

Fuck. It's starting to look like a sleepless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh... yeah
> 
> as always, come talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) / [tumblr](http://jeonghansgal.tumblr.com) where i rarely shut up about seventeen and jeongcheol


	5. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all had a good holiday! this is the last chapter of 2016, i for one am glad to be done with this year. lol
> 
> thanks for all the comments, they're necessary nutrition for my soul
> 
> (listening to: [banks - _change_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0b8KA1drwI))

”You want my honest opinion?”

Seungcheol stops rocking back and forth in his chair, as though it's somehow going to improve his hearing. He cocks a quizzical eyebrow at Jihoon, who looks every bit like someone in their natural habitat, sitting at the piano and playing some idle melody with one hand.

”Go ahead”, Seungcheol says, feigning nonchalance, although he can't help but feel vulnerable. Jihoon is nothing if not honest, sometimes brutally so, and writing is such an inherently intimate process for Seungcheol that the thought of having his lyrics criticized is akin to having someone be critical of the best and worst parts of his personality.

Jihoon regards him for a moment, face deceptively impassive. Seungcheol wonders how he can feel so intimidated by someone who probably weighs less than what he's used to deadlifting at the gym. "I like it", Jihoon says after a while. "I especially liked your use of allegories. It's sentimental but not trite. There are a couple of parts I wanna go over with you, but overall it's a nice blueprint."

Seungcheol relaxes. It's a bit pathetic, he supposes, to be this hungry for validation, but he takes whatever he can get. "How long do you think it will take you to have the melody down?" he asks.

"I have a test coming up, but it should be ready before weekend."

"Really? That fast?"

Jihoon shrugs, his fingers still dancing on the ivory keys. "I'm used to working quickly."

Seungcheol is impressed. Watching Jihoon work on music is an awesome sight – it's easy to tell that it comes as second nature to him, something that's barely more complicated than breathing. Even though Seungcheol has been writing lyrics and poetry and working on simple melodies since he was a teenager, next to Jihoon he feels horribly inadequate.

"That's great", he says, stretching out his legs. It's only been 45 minutes, but he feels like he's been sitting for hours. "We should have the song ready way before our deadline."

Jihoon nods, but Seungcheol can tell his thoughts are a mile away. Picking up his backpack, Seungcheol asks: "Are you planning on going to that party Soonyoung mentioned?"

Jihoon's eyes fix on him at that. "What, the one at the old youth center?"

"Yup."

Jihoon's fingers perform some seemingly complicated choreography on the piano. "I guess. I'm not really into these things, as you might be able to tell", he says wryly. "But Soonyoung likes to go out, so I try to tag along once in a while."

"Hn." The words, even when spoken with a flat affect, sound romantic to Seungcheol. "Compromises, huh?"

Jihoon chuckles. "Something like that. We recently went out for Cheonsa's birthday, and--"

"Cheonsa?"

"Oh! Right. I meant Jeonghan", Jihoon says. "We call him that because he was born on--"

"October 4th." Seungcheol cuts him off, too excited by his own realization. Jihoon raises both eyebrows at him – for all his musical prowess, he doesn't seem to have mastered the art of cocking a single brow – , and Seungcheol bites his lip. "So, you were saying? Something about Jeonghan's birthday."

Jihoon seems confused for a moment, as though he forgot what he was about to say. "We went out for Jeonghan hyung's birthday", he repeats, retracing his thoughts. ”Jeonghan kept saying that he was gonna, and I paraphrase, 'get so damn wasted he could no longer remember his own name'. But in the end it was Soonyoung and Seokmin – Soonyoung's best friend – who drank too much, and Jeonghan and I ended up babysitting them. There's nothing quite like scrambling for a paper bag in the back seat of a cab while the driver is about to rupture a lung from yelling at you.”

Seungcheol can't help but laugh at the mental image, if only because he knows the feeling all too well. ”I've been the most sober friend more than a few times, myself”, he says. ”You guys seem close. Have you known each other for a long time?”

"Cheonsa and I attended the same middle school", Jihoon replies, leaning back in his seat. "We weren't friends in the beginning, though."

”How come?”

"I don't always seem like the friendliest person in the world", Jihoon speaks, matter-of-fact. "And Cheonsa was a shy kid. Like, hinderingly so. He still is, I guess, but back then it was way worse.”

Seungcheol is enthralled by the story. By some small fragment of his soulmate's history, of his personality that he's only ever caught glimpses of. "How did you become friends, then?"

"I was bullied by some kids in school because of my height.”

"Did Jeonghan stand up to them?"

"Nah. That would make for a better story, wouldn't it?” Jihoon smirks. ”He was almost scrawnier than I was, so I never held it against him. But he came up to me after they were done. Asked me if I was okay. Do you know how many kids even bother doing that much?”

Seungcheol fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, where a piece of thread seems to have come loose. It was one of his favorite shirts, too. ”So, that's how you two became best friends?” he says. ”It's a good story, even without the classic 'standing up to bullies' scene.”

”Best friends? Nah, Jeonghan and I are close, but that title belongs to Jisoo.” Seungcheol's head snaps up at the mention of the name, and he thinks of the auburn-haired boy at the house party where he and Jeonghan had their disastrous second encounter. ”Not that I mind the trip down the memory lane, but why are you so interested in him?”

”Just curi--”

”Yeah, no. First there was that weird vibe at lunch the other week, and Soonyoung told me you two had some awkward flirting thing going on at the theater”, Jihoon says. ”Look, if you're interested Jeonghan, you've got shit timing. As a friend to you both, I'm telling you it's better to drop it.”

Seungcheol knows he should do as Jihoon says, even if for different reasons. But all this time, he's been wondering what Jeonghan truly thinks of him, and the temptation to find out without the pain of a direct confrontation is overwhelming. ”Did he just break up with someone or?” he asks, unthinkingly latching onto the loose thread and tugging at it, trying to see how hard he can pull before it breaks.

Jihoon sighs. ”I shouldn't even be telling you about this”, he mutters. ”But if it will keep you from accidentally blurting out something stupid, I will. Just... pretend that we never had this conversation, okay?”

”You're good at creating buildup.” Seungcheol gives a weak laugh, although it's really not that funny. ”I'm not gonna say anything or act any different. Don't worry.”

”Fine, I'll spare you the suspense. In short, Jeonghan hyung was rejected by his soulmate.”

There is nothing remotely novel or surprising about the information, but spoken in the blunt voice of Jihoon, it all sounds so much worse. In the end, Seungcheol doesn't even have to fake his startled expression as he forces out a single word. ”Why?”

”Damned if I know”, Jihoon says. ”He doesn't like to talk about it, but it had to do with some personal issues, from what I've gathered. The only thing it could be, anyway – they hardly even spoke, and I don't think anyone could reject Cheonsa based on his looks, least of all a soulmate.”

Jihoon is angry, Seungcheol realizes. Not in a white-hot, raised voices, blazing eyes kind of way. It is cold anger with colder eyes and measured tones, biting and ruthless. Knowing that he is the source of that anger, even if Jihoon remains unaware of it, is enough to make Seungcheol feel like he's running out of air in the stuffy music room.

”Jeonghan would literally kill me for saying this, but he took the whole thing pretty hard, as you might imagine. I don't doubt that he'd be willing to throw himself into some random fling, if only out of spite, but I don't think that would be healthy for anyone involved.” Jihoon glances at his phone. ”Shit, we've only got the room booked until two and it's already four minutes past. Have you had lunch yet?”

Jeonghan is already at the cafeteria, along with Soonyoung and some girl Seungcheol doesn't recognize. One of Jeonghan's psychology buddies, perhaps, judging by the way she's sitting by his side and not Soonyoung's. Seungcheol finds he can't quite bring himself to look at Jeonghan as Jihoon's words play like a twisting, winding loop in the back of his mind.

When their eyes meet, it's like a secret. A thrill goes up Seungcheol's spine, because somehow a simple look feels more intimate than a kiss.

 

 

”You sure it's okay for me to be here?” Hansol asks, looking around the room like he's half-expecting someone to drag him out by the neck. ”I won't get kicked out for still being in high school?”

”I doubt you're the first senior to crash a college party”, Mingyu chimes. ”Even if someone does bust you, you can just blame Seungcheol hyung for inviting you, in the first place.”

”Thanks for that”, Seungcheol says dryly. ”Anyway, this is a good opportunity for you to reinvent yourself. You can tell people you're majoring in nuclear physics or something.”

”What if they ask me questions? I almost failed physics last semester.”

”What if the person he talks to ends up being an actual physics major?” Wonwoo joins the debate. ”God, that would be embarrassing. I would pay to see it happen.”

Seungcheol sighs. ”Just be whoever you want to be.”

”How inspirational”, Jihoon says.

”I'm not even sure what that is”, Hansol complains. ”I kinda wanna do nursing? But I also like photography. That falls under visual arts, doesn't it?”

Seungcheol tunes out of the 'What Should Hansol's Fictional Major Be?' conversation and takes in the scene. Dimly lit and packed with inebriated college students, the place looks more like a bar and less like a former Christian youth center. Most are sitting at their tables, not quite drunk enough to dance without the presence of an actual dance floor, and Seungcheol recognizes a recent hiphop release blaring through the speakers with too much bass.

A typical Thursday night, then.

”Where's Soonyoung?” he asks Jihoon, raising his voice over the chaos.

”The last time I saw him, he was off to play darts with Cheonsa. Let's hope the darts have magnets or some poor soul might be needing a trip to the ER.”

Mingyu laughs loudly, and Seungcheol feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the two drinks he's finished so far. He wasn't sure his old and new friends would get along, what with their contrasting personalities and intertwining histories that can never be fully summarized to a newcomer. There's still an awkwardness to them that's evident in the assessing looks and stilted pauses, but he has hopes that if Mingyu's general charm and Soonyoung's jovial nature won't break the ice, a few more rounds of alcohol will.

Seungcheol feels a nudge at his side and turns to Hansol. ”There's a pinball machine over there”, Hansol says too softly for the others to hear. ”Wanna go up against me? Loser pays for chicken after we're done here.”

Seungcheol nods and allows himself to be led towards the machine. It looks gaudy and distinctly retro, the glass covered in greasy fingerprints, bright lights blinking at him like they're beckoning him to come closer. The child within him is undeniably tempted.

They've only managed to play a couple rounds when Hansol's face turns serious. ”I've talked about it with Yuna”, he says, handing Seungcheol the bottle of beer he was holding for him. ”And we've decided to stay together when it happens.”

”Okay”, Seungcheol says, because it's the only immediate response he can think of. ”When did you make up your mind?”

”I've felt this way for a while, but we had a long talk a few days ago.”

”Do your parents know?”

”Yeah. They say they'll support me, but I don't think they're taking me all that seriously.” Hansol's brow is furrowed as he focuses on the game, cursing a little as the pinball falls through before he's managed to rack up a decent score. ”I haven't told Mingyu hyung yet, though.”

”Why?” Seungcheol asks, distracted as he spots Jeonghan on the other side of the room. He's standing in a circle with Jihoon, Soonyoung and some people Seungcheol doesn't know, looking thoughtful and a bit bored.

”I already know how he's gonna react”, Hansol sighs. He's picking at the label of his bottle. ”I mean, he probably won't say anything, but I can see it on his face. I knew that you weren't going to disapprove, so I thought it'd be better to tell you first. You know, to get some positive reinforcement.”

Seungcheol feels like a fraud. Hansol is looking up to him as an example, an inspirational article in some glossy magazine ( _I Chose To Live Without A Soulmate... And My Life Is Fabulous! (more on page 26)_ ), and he doesn't have the heart to admit to the reality of it. His ceaseless state of confusion, the dreams he has of Jeonghan that have far since turned from the exception to the rule. The way his body responds to Jeonghan's presence in all of its pupil-dilating, dopamine-inducing, attention-enhancing glory.

Seungcheol says nothing of it, of course. He smiles, instead, clapping Hansol on the shoulder in some TV-taught example of friendly support. ”Whatever feels right for you”, he says. ”Come on, I heard Mingyu brought vodka and grapefruit juice. We should go make sure he doesn't finish all of it by himself.”

After a few cups of the bitter mixture, Seungcheol is feeling sufficiently buzzed, and there's that telltale looseness to his walk that can only be brought on by alcohol as he wanders around in search of a bathroom. He's scrolling through his phone and altogether not giving his surroundings his full attention, which is how he ends up grabbing the first door handle he can find and being plunged into the freezing outside air.

Instead of a bathroom, he's standing on some sort of a deck, with worn-looking wooden furniture and outdoor lights that create a dim glow in the stormy dark of the night. There are two people standing nearby, taking drags of their shared joint in between incessant talking, but Seungcheol is more concerned with Jeonghan. He's sitting in one of the lawn chairs, huddled up in a blanket and blinking up at Seungcheol in a way that shouldn't be endearing, especially considering the half-smoked cigarette that's dangling from his fingers.

”Why aren't you wearing a coat”, Jeonghan says before Seungcheol's brain can formulate a sentence, eyeing his (fashionably, mind you) threadbare white t-shirt like it's the most offensive thing he's ever seen. ”It's mid-October.”

Seungcheol briefly forgot about the cold, but it's sinking in now, the chill ebbing and flowing against his bare skin. ”I was looking for the bathroom”, he says, then adds, ”you _smoke?_ ”

He could swear he sees Jeonghan blush. Or maybe it's the wind. ”Only when I'm drinking and someone's offering”, Jeonghan says, making a point to take a final drag out of his cigarette before putting it out in a makeshift ashtray fashioned out of a soda can. Seungcheol, who's never appreciated the bad habit, feels annoyed with himself for finding some elegance in the gesture.

Even as he's finished, though, Jeonghan makes no move to get up. Instead, he pulls out his phone, eyes flickering briefly towards Seungcheol before he starts going through his social media. That's what Seungcheol assumes, anyway. It's not like he can see the screen from where he's standing.

”Are you staying or going?”

Seungcheol wavers in his place. He kinda needs to pee, he's freezing his ass off, and there's no obvious reason for him to be out here – but there's something off about Jeonghan, a kind of loneliness that exudes from the stiff line of his mouth and the slope of his shoulders.

Instead of answering Jeonghan's question, he presents him with another one. ”Why aren't you in there?” Seungcheol almost trips on one of the chairs, earning a soft laugh. He takes a seat opposite to Jeonghan, wrapping his fingers around his forearms for some warmth.

”I came out for a smoke. What does it look like?” Jeonghan tosses him the blanket, and Seungcheol wraps it around himself, nose wrinkling at the smell that reminds him of mildew. Jeonghan smirks in quiet acknowledgement.

”Yeah, but you're not smoking anymore.”

Seungcheol is anticipating some snarky retort, which is why he's caught off guard when Jeonghan looks thoughtful and a little somber. ”To be honest”, he says slowly, ”I'm not really good at this stuff.”

Seungcheol frowns. ”What, parties?”

”Strangers, mostly. Meeting new people.”

Seungcheol thinks back on what Jihoon said that day in the music room. Come to think of it, he's rarely seen Jeonghan with people other than Jihoon and Soonyoung. Even among his psychology peers, he doesn't seem to have made that many friends.

”I always thought you just had this mysterious thing going on”, he says, not untruthfully. ”Like you think you're too cool for everyone.”

Jeonghan snorts, ”I think I prefer that perception of me over reality.” It's only now that Seungcheol realizes he's slurring a bit. ”I just can't seem to get the words out... and when I do, I sound like an idiot.”

”I doubt anyone thinks that.”

”You're a kind person, Seungcheol. I can tell.”

Seungcheol wraps the blanket tighter around himself, no longer minding the smell of damp wool. ”You almost make it sound like an insult.”

”It's not”, Jeonghan says as he fishes something out of his coat pocket. It turns out to be another cigarette. ”You're kind in a different way from Jihoon, though. He thinks that it's best to be honest about things, even when the truth hurts. You strike me as the 'trying to spare people's feelings' type.”

It's ironic, coming from the one person whose feelings he has rendered into such a state of disrepair. Seungcheol doesn't mention this, though, instead watching as Jeonghan cranes his neck towards the pair still chattering in a weed-induced stupor. His throat looks pale in the blue nocturnal glow, teeth flashing with superficial charm. ”Excuse me, does either of you have a light?”

”Sure”, the girl giggles, and Seungcheol doesn't miss the way she looks Jeonghan over as he allows her to light the cig between his lips. The sight stirs a whole complicated mix of emotions inside him, and he chalks it up as some sort of a knee-jerk response. Territorial soulmate business, maybe.

”I'm not just saying that to spare your feelings”, Seungcheol says once the girl and her friend have disappeared back inside. ”You're a psychology major, aren't you? You know about this stuff. Self-awareness, the discrepancy between how we see ourselves versus how the world perceives us. Nobody thinks that acting shy makes you an idiot.”

Jeonghan exhales, the gray smoke coiling around his face before it evaporates. ”Look, I'm just gonna get the awkward part out of the way”, he says. ”I think we've established that you don't like me, so why are you doing this? I get that we have mutual friends, so we can't avoid each other all the time, but you don't have to be out here right now.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth only to find that he really doesn't have an answer to Jeonghan's question. ”I never said I didn't like you”, he says instead.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, scattering ash into the soda can. ”Dude, you literally ran away from me.”

”' _Dude_ '?”

”Don't try to change the subject.”

”It had nothing to do with you, specifically”, Seungcheol argues. ”We exchanged – what, less than ten words?” He pretends not to know the exact number, pretends that Jeonghan's words from that day aren't somehow permanently seared into his brain. ”Why would I bail on you based on that?”

Jeonghan's lips are pursed in a small pout. ”It's not just words, you know”, he points out.

Seungcheol stares at him, disbelieving. ”What, you think I ran away from you because of your _looks_? You have got to be kidding me.” 

”Why not?”

”Come on, stop acting coy”, Seungcheol says, although it is he who feels flustered. ”You know you're good-looking.”

”I do”, Jeonghan admits. ”But I also know that people have their preferences. Maybe I just wasn't your type.”

”Mingyu said that you'll always find your soulmate beautiful. No matter how unattractive they may be.”

Jeonghan smirks, ”that's so cheesy.”

”Well, think of all the less than attractive people in the world who are happy with their soulmate”, Seungcheol says.

”Then why did you run?”

Jeonghan's head is tilted to the side as he gazes at Seungcheol, eyes dark and round. Smoke billows from the end of his cigarette, and all of a sudden Seungcheol finds himself leaning forward, taking the stick gently from between Jeonghan's long fingers. Their hands touch, and there's that dizzying rush again, like sinking into a warm bath.

Jeonghan watches, eyelids heavy, as Seungcheol takes a drag of the cigarette. The smoke leaves a chemical aroma on his tongue and catches in his throat, and he coughs, squashing the stub into the sole of his shoe.

”Hey”, Jeonghan protests, but there's no real heat in his voice.

”I told you before”, Seungcheol says, running his tongue along his teeth. The taste of nicotine is everywhere. ”I'm just not a fan of soulmates.”

When Jeonghan laughs, the sound is acrid and brittle. ”You make it sound so simple”, he mutters. ”You don't even know what it's like--”

”I don't know?” Seungcheol echoes. The anger sneaks up on him, creeps into his voice in half a syllable, and his hands ball into fists. ”Of course I know. I wouldn't be putting up with this shit if I didn't have a good reason.”

”You're 'not a fan'?” Jeonghan spits his words in his face. ”This isn't some regular hookup! I'm not someone you met at a club or one of your old playground crushes. Like it or not, we're bound for life!”

”I never asked to be bound to you!”

”You think I want to be bound to _you_?” Jeonghan sneers. If Seungcheol is angry, he seems furious. ”Some stubborn asshole with emotional issues? Who the hell do you think you are, shooting me down the moment we met, yet you still keep going in circles around me? Sending me stupid messages, giving me pep talks I never asked for, asking my friends about me behind my back?”

All of a sudden, Seungcheol wants to cry. Anger, he realizes, doesn't even begin to cover his emotional state – he's fuming, yes, but there's also a tightness in his throat and an ache in his chest as he stares, unblinkingly to get rid of the moisture behind his eyes, at Jeonghan's face. Jeonghan, who looks sort of stunning even with blotchy skin and a fevered stare, features twisted in contempt.

After the sharpest edge of his anger dissipates, Seungcheol is left shivering as the chill around him increases tenfold. Jeonghan makes little noise as he gets up from his chair and makes his way to the door, and Seungcheol braces himself for the resounding slam that never comes.

Jeonghan is nowhere to be seen by the time he returns to the party. ”Hyung, where were you? I've been--” Hansol halts as he sees the look on Seungcheol's face.

”You think we can leave now?”

”Sure. Let me go get our coats.”

No words are exchanged as they make their way towards Seungcheol's apartment complex. Even when the tears come, four in total and wiped hastily into his sleeve, Hansol doesn't say anything.

Seungcheol is grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smoking is bad kids
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) or [tumblr](http://jeonghansgal.tumblr.com) where i rarely shut up about svt/jeongcheol


	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (none of the names mentioned (outside the svt members ofc) are meant to represent other idols. i just picked random names.)
> 
> idk why but this chapter gave me such a hard time. if i could kick its ass i would.
> 
> **WARNING:** this chapter contains:
> 
> \- a brief description of an anxiety attack (focusing on sensory oversensitivity and mild dissociative symptoms)  
> \- a conversation regarding suicidal thoughts (no details mentioned)
> 
> (listening to: little dragon - [_twice_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrpMncSZe-I))

After the night at the youth center, Seungcheol more than expects his life to fall apart. Which is why, when there's no remarkable change, it's what _doesn't_ happen that ends up shaking him to the core.

If he wasn't irrevocably a part of what happened, he wouldn't have thought that things had shifted between him and Jeonghan. Whether they're sitting together in Psychology 101 (all thanks to Jihoon and Wonwoo, the two of whom seem to have hit it off) or at the cafeteria, Jeonghan treats him with placid indifference, always making sure not to ignore Seungcheol so entirely that it would seem hostile to outsiders.

Seungcheol despises it. He finds he would rather welcome the hatred, the face drawn white from anger and damaged pride. He prefers a wrathful Jeonghan over the flat absence of emotion that feels so practiced, that makes him wonder how often Jeonghan must have felt compelled to conceal his feelings, until the mask slips on and off with such ease.

It makes him feel sorry for Jeonghan, which immediately makes him feel angry at himself. He knows Jeonghan well enough by now to refrain from coddling him, even if only in his thoughts. Jeonghan is shy and insecure in some ways but confident in others – Jeonghan is someone who will flirt for a cigarette and say petulant things like ”I was here first” and tease his friends relentlessly, but he will also point out the bits of bell pepper in Jihoon's food and pay for Soonyoung's lunch when he's forgotten his wallet. Small, mundane acts of kindness that make Seungcheol feel like he's unraveling a mystery.

Jeonghan is also someone who keeps his cards hidden before throwing them in your face. Seungcheol flushes as he remembers how Jeonghan knew about his careful, prodding questions – he's spent more time thinking about it than he'd ever like to admit, wondering if it was Jihoon or Soonyoung who let the truth slip. Soonyoung seems to be the more likely candidate, but he can't bring himself to confront either of the two, afraid that his behavior might betray the gravity of the situation.

Although their interaction may have grown sparse during the day, Seungcheol has dreams about Jeonghan almost every night.

In one of them, Jeonghan's warm like the sun, lips wet and pliant as they breathe smoke into each other's mouths. Nothing more graphic happens, but Seungcheol wakes up sweat-slicked and rutting into his sheets in slow, sleepy thrusts. The sense of shame doesn't creep in until the afterglow of his orgasm has subsided.

In another dream, Jeonghan resembles some infinitely cruel ancient deity, terrifying in his wrath as he sinks down on Seungcheol's chest until he can't even breathe. He startles awake with a voiceless sob on his lips to realize that he's been holding his breath in his sleep, and the dull headache that follows doesn't leave him for the rest of the day.

The most unpleasant one has Seungcheol screaming at Jeonghan with throbbing hatred. He's spewing out every obscenity he knows, his dream self's voice cracking under the strain, until all he can manage is a broken moan. All the while Jeonghan just stares back, face impassive like a doll's, until Seungcheol blinks and all of a sudden there's an ugly sneer twisting his features into some nightmarish caricature.

The latest dream leaves Seungcheol feeling so disturbed that, when awoken from his nap by a phone call from one of his teammates, he doesn't hesitate to agree to their plans. His brain still feels sluggish in the aftereffects of the nightmare as he showers, brushes the stale taste off his breath and changes into an outfit that's suitable for Friday night bar hopping. His hair is determined not to cooperate, falling back into his eyes every time he tries to slick it off his forehead.

Well, whatever. He figures that with his eyebags and destroyed jeans, he looks disheveled enough to pull off the grunge look.

The bar is a popular establishment among college students both due to the cheap drinks and the general indifference of the staff when it comes to carding potentially underage patrons. Hoseok and Jinyoung goad him into drinking one shot after another, and he welcomes the sluggish cloud of intoxication, observes as his (recently almost ever-present, it seems) anxiety gets dulled down into a vague sense of discomfort in the back of his head.

He's never been much of a dancer, but he finds himself at the dance floor that night. The melodic EDM tracks flow seamlessly into one another, and Seungcheol loses track of time, transfixed by the moving mass of bodies and the pulsating beat that thrums in his every heartbeat. It's not until his attention strays to his parched throat and the sweat pooling at his back that he realizes how long it's been – just as he's about to head over to the counter for a glass of water, though, he feels a breath against the back of his neck.

Sparing a look over his shoulder, Seungcheol catches a tall form and a deliberate smile. The man is around his age, perhaps slightly older, with a slender modelesque figure and a symmetrical face. That's really the best word for it – he's not exceptionally good-looking, but his features are pleasant enough, and his height and body type make him appear almost glamorous.

”Hi”, The Tall Man says.

”No smooth one-liner?” And damn, Seungcheol really must be drunk, because the words don't come out sounding dry as much as flirtatious. He turns around, careful to avoid physical contact, in case the man might get some premature ideas of his own.

The Tall Man laughs, unphased. ”Would you prefer one instead of a greeting?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a little annoyed at having to crane his neck to maintain eye contact. They're standing close enough that if he looks straight ahead, he's just staring at a nicely sculpted chin.

”Do you want me to leave?” The Tall Man continues.

Seungcheol hesitates, and he locks eyes with Hoseok who's dancing with some pink-haired girl a distance away, mouthing something that looks suspiciously like _Go for it_. It's as though The Tall Man can sense his apprehension, because he takes a step back as he says, ”I'm Hyunwoo. We can just talk, if you'd like.”

Seungcheol has been around the block enough times to know what that means. He's about to speak without any definitive response on his tongue, when a hand clamps down on his shoulder, causing him to jump.

”I don't mean to be rude, but I need to have a chat with my friend”, Jihoon says. Seungcheol stares at him, wide-eyed, wondering if this is some intricate hallucination.

Hyunwoo looks as taken aback as he feels. Seungcheol doesn't even have time for an apology before Jihoon's tugging him towards the men's bathroom. For the first time since they met, he feels a singe of irritation towards Jihoon – not at the loss of a possible one night stand, but at being pulled around like a puppet. Life already seems to be doing that enough as it is.

One of the stalls seems to be taken and there's a man drying his hands nearby, but Jihoon chooses to ignore him as he leans back on the edge of the sink, folding his arms across his chest. ”So, Jeonghan hyung told me you're his soulmate”, he says.

Whenever Seungcheol considered this moment in the past, he always expected to feel certain things – dread, guilt for keeping secrets, the sting of a broken promise. What he didn't expect was relief, but as he stares back at Jihoon, the emotion is on the forefront of his mind. The proverbial weight is off his shoulders.

”How did you even find me?” he says.

”I'm not stalking you, if that's what you think. I came here to have drinks with some classmates.”

”O- _kay_ ”, Seungcheol drags out the word, sounding snarkier than he intended. ”So, what now?”

He's not entirely sure if Jihoon's glaring at him or not. With Jihoon, a thoughtful frown can often appear hostile to the untrained eye, and Seungcheol figures they haven't known each other long enough for him to be able to tell the difference. ”I'm not gonna try to strong-arm you into changing your mind”, Jihoon says gravely. ”You have your reasons, as much as I hate seeing my friend deal with the consequences.”

Seungcheol feels like there's not enough tequila in his blood. He knows Jihoon isn't to blame, but with the mess that's his life as of late, with his own alternating feelings of guilt and vindication, something inside him bristles.

”Yeah, well, I already feel like shit--” he begins, but Jihoon cuts him off.

”I know. You look it.”

Seungcheol falters, and whatever words he had conjured up in his head are already fading. A thirty-something man has been washing his hands in the corner for about two minutes, now, following their conversation with interest. As Seungcheol's eyes meet his, he scrambles for a paper towel and leaves the bathroom, neck turning a blotchy shade of red.

”I think you might actually be worse for wear than Jeonghan”, Jihoon drawls. ”I usually don't stick my nose into other people's business, but I have to wonder. You say you don't want a soulmate, but you can't seem to stay away from him for very long.”

Seungcheol can feel himself flush. ”What's your point?”

”My point is that you need to decide if you're gonna leave Cheonsa alone. This whole arrangement you two have got going on? It's a mess.”

A heavy silence follows. Seungcheol finds it easier to look anywhere but at Jihoon – he feels like crying again, for the second time in as many weeks. Only as Jihoon turns to leave, Seungcheol calls out, absolutely loathing the way his voice quivers a little:

”Do you hate me?”

Jihoon sighs. He brings a hand to tousle his brown hair, pianist's fingers dragging a path down his face. ”Of course I don't”, he says. ”It's just... it's bullshit.”

Seungcheol stays behind after Jihoon is gone. He rinses his face, then forms a cup out of his hands, taking greedy gulps of the lukewarm tap water. The metallic aftertaste reminds him of an open wound – he looks in the mirror, and suddenly Jihoon's words make sense. His eyes are bloodshot and feverish, his face haunted and drawn. The bleak lighting in the bathroom makes his complexion appear sallow.

As he steps out of the bathroom, his senses are heightened to an unbearable degree. The music grinds his eardrums, the smell of sweat and perfume and sticky liquor leaves a nauseating tackiness in his mouth. The flashing lights and the constantly writhing, morphing mass of people make it hard for his eyes to focus on anything, and the stuffiness of the air is enough to make him feel like he's suffocating. He doesn't even realize how rapid his breathing has become, his heartbeat fluttering like a hummingbird inside his chest.

Seungcheol doesn't quite register how his feet are dragging him towards the subway station – the night feels dreamlike, as though he could walk right into the lazy nocturnal traffic and the cars would pass through him like ghosts. His phone vibrates in his clammy palm, and he manages to gather his thoughts long enough to shoot Hoseok a message, letting him know that he's alright.

Instead of taking a train to his tiny flat, he finds himself on a line that leads to the outskirts of the city center. Breathing comes a little easier as he spots the familiar rows of houses, the grocery store he could navigate with a blindfold on – the trees that, come springtime, would sprinkle the crown of his head and his shoulders with fine pollen as he passed under their branches. The nostalgia is bittersweet, but even in the bitterness there's a kind of familiarity that he welcomes.

He's somewhat surprised to see a light in the kitchen window; his mother is a habitual early bird, and Jongsuk always goes to bed before midnight on Fridays, worn out by his hectic week at work. Gingerly, Seungcheol fits his key into the lock and tiptoes through the door. The smell that can only be described as 'home', _his_ home, wraps around him in a wordless greeting.

”Seungcheol?” his mother's hushed voice sounds from the kitchen. She appears in the doorway, wrapped in her old green dressing robe, and it feels like he's sixteen again. ”It's two in the morning. What are you doing here? Have you been drinking?”

”Mom”, Seungcheol says, voice slow and deliberate. ”I think I messed up.”

 

 

_He's back in the bar, passing through bodies like water – Jeonghan is in the center of it all, swaying drunkenly to the beat, but it's the most captivating thing Seungcheol has ever seen. The people around him seem to be thinking the same thing, standing strangely motionless, all eyes on Jeonghan as his lithe hips move with purpose._

_Doyoon is standing not far from Seungcheol, bobbing his head to the rhythm of the music. There's also Hyunwoo, his features appearing blurry in the image Seungcheol's subconscious has conjured up. Further away he spots his former rugby coach; and an old classmate, Yungyeom, the boy that he kissed at the water park in sixth grade. Strange faces, but most strange things seem to make sense in a dreamscape._

_He turns back to Jeonghan, whose hair is now purple, splaying over his shoulder as he gazes coyly at Seungcheol. Seungcheol takes the offered hand, and they lapse into a kind of slow dance that doesn't match the beat in the slightest. Jeonghan seems to radiate with heat, his body impossibly soft and pliable, like quicksand._

_Seungcheol moves his head to kiss Jeonghan, but his lips land on the corner of the other's mouth. He tries to kiss him on the lips again, but somehow he's mouthing at his jawline, instead. Jeonghan giggles, amused by his clumsy efforts but entirely unhelpful. Seungcheol nuzzles against the junction between his neck and shoulder, runs his tongue along the skin there, feels himself sinking..._

A clanging noise from downstairs stirs him awake. Seungcheol blinks blearily at his surroundings – the navy blue walls of his old bedroom, the sports trophies and dusty piles of schoolbooks, and for a fleeting moment he thinks he's been submerged into some alternate timeline where he's a teenager again. The single bed makes a creaking sound as he shifts, and in the light of morning he recognizes the bedcovers his mother handed to him the night before. Dozens of little Spiderman clones, slinging their webs against a black background. His childhood favorite, and perhaps a teasing gesture on his mother's part.

Seungcheol is surprised by his own lack of a hangover – a physical one, anyway. Emotionally, he feels worn out and jaded, like there might be a fresh series of fine lines around his eyes when he looks in the mirror. Although being back in his childhood home feels comforting, he wishes he'd gone to his apartment, instead. In hindsight, showing up at his mother's house feels self-indulgent, the kind of drunken dramatics of someone who seeks to make their upset into a performance.

As he hears someone ascend the stairs, Seungcheol sits up, trying (and failing) to tame his unruly hair. There's a knock on his door, and without waiting for a response Jongsuk peeks through the opening. ”I didn't think you'd be up yet”, he says. ”Hwayoung told me you got here late. Feel like having some breakfast?”

”I'm starving”, Seungcheol admits.

Jongsuk grins, ”you couldn't have been too drunk, then. Having an appetite is a healthy sign.”

”What exactly did Mom say to you?”

”Nothing too embarrassing. Certainly nothing I haven't done before, myself.” Jongsuk chuckles at the expression on Seungcheol's face. The latter is only feigning disgruntlement – the child in him that always seems to resurface when he's visiting home finds solace in Jongsuk's presence; corny jokes, shoulder claps and all.

His mother is pouring coffee as Seungcheol walks into the kitchen, taking in the array of dishes on the dining table. It's a far cry from his recent breakfasts which have consisted mainly of granola bars and toast, and his stomach rumbles at the sight.

”There he is”, his mother observes. ”Did you manage to get any sleep?” Her voice is light, almost suspiciously so, and Seungcheol can't help his apprehension as he takes a seat by the window. They spoke very little the previous night, both too tired and Seungcheol's thoughts still reeling from the alcohol in his system, but he knows that she's waiting for an explanation.

”I slept fine. Just... weird dreams, that's all.” Even now, Seungcheol can feel the atmosphere of the dream on the edges of his conscious – the beatific state of bliss that was shared between him and dream-Jeonghan. He dislikes the feeling of unreality, taking a greedy sip of his coffee in the hopes that it might wake him up.

Jongsuk comes thumping down the stairs, sports bag swinging from his shoulder. It's the usual Saturday morning badminton session. ”Well, I'm off”, he says, and Seungcheol watches his mother and stepfather exchange a brief embrace. It's always been their thing, the hugging – he can only recollect a handful of times that he's seen them kiss. Brushing past him, Jongsuk claps Seungcheol on the shoulder, and the predictability of the gesture almost makes him laugh.

Jongsuk's presence brought a brief delay to the inevitable, but as Seungcheol listens to the door close in the hallway, he knows his defenses have been laid bare. It's always been an unspoken agreement that Jongsuk, for all his admirable qualities, is not the most comfortable shoulder to cry on. It's not just that he doesn't have the right words, but that he doesn't quite know how to deal with the silence.

When his mother speaks once more, Seungcheol wonders if she means to address the elephant in the room. ”Try the soup”, she says instead, eyes fixed on her newspaper. ”Jongsuk made it on Thursday from some scraps we had in the fridge. It turned out better than we thought.”

She's waiting for him to speak, Seungcheol realizes. Her behavior seems casual enough, but there's something practiced about it, and he thinks of the animal trainers on TV who aim to appear nonthreatening to the beasts in their care. Really, though, Seungcheol feels more like a timid prey that's seconds away from fleeing. An antilope, perhaps.

He eats slowly, taking his time to arrange and rearrange his thoughts. And yet, by the time he sets his empty bowl down and his mother folds the newspaper, looking at him attentively, the first words to leave his mouth are:

”I messed up.”

”I think we already established that”, his mother says, and it's to her credit that she doesn't roll her eyes. ”How big are we talking? Did you get someone pregnant? Shoplift? Get yourself expelled? Arrested?”

”You think so highly of me.”

”Well, if it's none of those things, it can't be too bad.”

Seungcheol focuses on the dark ring at the bottom of his mug. Worrying his lip between his teeth, he can feel the skin tear a little. ”I don't know”, he admits. ”I don't know how bad it is. I don't even know if I messed up. But it feels like I did.”

He's not looking at her, but he can feel his mother's eyes on him, frustratingly perceptive. ”This is about that boy, isn't it?”

”Jeonghan.” He's spoken the name so many times, but it feels clumsy on his lips. ”I think-- I _know_ I hurt his feelings, and I thought I did it for a good reason. But it turns out I'm not doing much better, myself.”

His mother sighs. ”This whole thing...” She drifts off, and Seungcheol doesn't realize that he's grown tense. ”It's got something to do with Seungmin, doesn't it?”

She's always called him by his name, Seungcheol realizes. Never _your father_ , and certainly not _my late husband_ , unless the context has demanded it. It almost sounds like Seungmin could be anyone, and he wonders if it's easier for her this way.

”After he died”, and the next words get stuck, sticking to his dry mouth like taffy, ”did you ever feel like killing yourself?”

He finally looks up. Hwayoung is frowning, the lines on her face weary and deep. ”Why would you ask that?”

”I've read about studies. Did you know that 30 percent of people with a deceased soulmate attempt suicide within 12 months?” Now that he's started talking, Seungcheol can't seem to stop. ”It's interesting, really. Scientists used to assume that most of those people are ritualists – _they die, I follow_ , that kind of stuff. But only a small minority of the 30 percent were raised to believe that. Most don't even have a history of mental illness, they just lose their will to live.”

”And you think that if Jeonghan died, you might do the same?”

”That's not what I said.”

”It's implied.”

The trees outside have been stripped of most of their leaves. Seungcheol gazes at their bare trunks and wonders how he didn't see it before. ”It's not that I believe I would”, he admits. ”But I could. Or I'd just be miserable for the rest of my life.”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. ”So, I'm miserable now?” For the first time, his mother sounds angry.

”That's not what I meant”, Seungcheol says. ”I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean it that way.”

She goes silent. He follows her with his eyes as she gets up and puts the kettle on. As she starts to gather the dishes, he makes a move to help her, but she brushes him off with a flick of her wrist. ”I did think about it”, she says at last. A strain of irritation remains in her voice, but she sounds calmer, now. ”When you were staying with Hwajung. I'm not always sure what kept me from doing it. Maybe I was too tired, maybe I just didn't have the energy. But even then, I felt like I had reasons to keep living – and with time, I found more reasons.”

The tear on his lips grows too deep, and Seungcheol can taste iron in his mouth. He soothes his tongue over the wound. ”I thought I could be happy without a soulmate”, he admits ruefully. ”Not as happy as with one. But at least it would be my choice.”

”That's a very simplistic way of looking at it”, his mother points out. ”Your cousin, Nayeon? She chose to study to become a chef. She chose to apply for an internship in France. Once she got accepted, she chose to go. Six months later, she met her soulmate in Lyon. You think that she was some mindless puppet all along?”

Seungcheol wonders how his life might be different without Jeonghan. Would he still be in Seoul? Or would've he pursued his studies in another city, perhaps another country? Would he even be in college?

How far do things extend, anyway? Did every interest, every relationship he's ever had somehow bring him to that street corner where Jeonghan pulled him out of harm's way?

”I think I'm finally getting a headache”, he groans, burying his face in his hands.

”It's a lot to think about, for sure”, his mother says. ”Tea?”

”No, thanks. I need to...” Seungcheol shakes his head without bothering to look up. ”I need to do something, but I have no idea what that might be.”

”Do you like him? Jeonghan?”

”It doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure he hates me now.”

”Of course it matters”, she says, her tone surprisingly strict. ”Your feelings matter. Do you like him?”

He considers the question.

Considers Jeonghan, like it's the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **kinda important:** i've considered switching the pov from seungcheol to jeonghan for the remainder of this fic. this would also mean that (considering my lowkey obsession with symmetry) i'd have to match the number of seungcheol's pov chapters with jeonghan's, meaning 12 chapters in total. i haven't started on chapter 7 yet so everything's still out in the open but if any of you have thoughts on this i'd love to hear them.
> 
> thank you so much for all the lovely comments, they make editing this shit at 3:30am worthwhile <3 as always feel free to talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) / [tumblr](http://jeonghansgal.tumblr.com)


	7. vii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is still written from seungcheol's pov, as is the next one. i might switch povs after that... or i might stick with seungcheol. who knows tbh (i definitely don't lol yikes)
> 
> i'm sad to say there's very little jeonghan in this chapter :( but he'll be around a lot more in the next one!! I PROMISE
> 
> as always, thank u for all the lovely comments, they mean a lot to me ♡
> 
> (listening to: death cab for cutie - _[you've haunted me all my life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0AKCne5vvaQ)_ )

Seungcheol is camped at the library, staring mindlessly at his book and willing himself to not check his phone for the fourth time in 30 minutes, when a shadow falls over his desk.

”Jihoon”, he says in surprise, and for a moment he forgets to keep his voice hushed. A girl sitting a few tables over glances at them in a wordless reprimand. ”What's up?”

”If you're busy, we can talk later”, Jihoon offers.

”Nah, it's fine. I needed a coffee break, anyway.” To prove his point, Seungcheol stands up and grabs his wallet and phone, following Jihoon out of the library and towards the cafeteria. It's that time of day when the university is quieting down after the bustle of the early afternoon hours. Most lectures are over, and instead of the chattering packs people sit alone or in pairs, sleepy eyes fixed on their books and laptop screens.

”Actually, I needed to ask you a favor”, Jihoon says as Seungcheol's browsing the sandwich selection. ”You mentioned once that you and your friends have done some shows before?”

It's just about the last thing Seungcheol expected him to say. ”I wouldn't really call them shows”, he admits and, after a moment of deliberation, picks the least soggy-looking tuna sandwich. ”Hansol and I did a few performances at school events and parties. Pretty amateurish stuff.”

”Our subject association is throwing an open mic night, but not that many people have signed up so far.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. ”It's going to look embarrassing if only a few acts get on stage, so I'm trying to convince more people to join. You don't need to be pros so long as you don't suck completely.”

”I'll have to ask Hansol”, Seungcheol says, shrugging. ”But I'm up for it if he is."

”Great.” Once the objective of the conversation has been reached, there's an awkward halt. Since the night at the club, things between Jihoon and Seungcheol have yet to return entirely to normal. It's as though they're balancing precariously between normality and uneasiness, the weight of words both spoken and unsaid too heavy to be ignored. Sometimes Jihoon acts like he's going to say something, yet there's always something holding him back in the end.

He is trying, though, and Seungcheol appreciates him for that. It can't be easy, being caught between his loyalty towards Jeonghan, one of his oldest friends; and Seungcheol, someone he has only known for a few months. There are no childhood memories between them, no knowledge of every inch of each other's personality, and yet Jihoon hasn't turned his back on him.

”Jeonghan's going to be there”, Jihoon says as Seungcheol is paying for his sandwich and coffee. The feigned casualty of his statement can't disguise the warning within.

”We've been around each other”, Seungcheol says, also trying to sound casual. ”Yesterday, most recently. You know that, you were at lunch with us.”

”Still thought I'd warn you”, Jihoon deadpans.

”Like you're gonna warn him?”

”Of course.”

The coffee is too hot, but Seungcheol drinks some, anyway. The bitter burn helps to ground him, to rearrange his thoughts. ”And how do you think he will...” He hates the way he sounds. Tentative, like he's fumbling for something. The truth, or perhaps just reassurance. ”How is he gonna react? Do you think he'll be pissed about me being there? We do run into each other all the time, though, so would it really be a problem?”

It takes him a moment to notice Jihoon's staring. ”What?”

”You're doing it again”, Jihoon says, and Seungcheol can't tell if there's a smirk or a grimace tugging at the corners of his mouth.

”Doing what?” Seungcheol demands with a spike of self-awareness.

”Nevermind.” The demon that he is, Jihoon turns, already walking away from him. ”I have to catch the bus. I'll text you about the details on the open mic thing, okay? And let me know if you and your friend can make it as soon as possible!”

Even as he tries to get back to studying, chewing on his sandwich and trying not to get any tuna on his (borrowed) textbook, Seungcheol's thoughts won't stop wandering back to Jeonghan. Thinking about him has always felt a little forbidden, like a single mundane observation (the way Jeonghan's bangs fall over his eyes as he makes notes; his impatient huff as he blows the strands out of his eyes, pen never stilling) might lead him down some slippery slope.

In a way, he was right. His thoughts about Jeonghan used to be sporadic, the occasional question or remark floating to the surface, before it submerged back into the recesses of his mind. With time, though, he seems to spend more and more time thinking about the other. Mulling over their past conversations for details he might have missed before, trying to unravel new and undiscovered traits. Like how Jeonghan always appears to have an Americano in hand to soothe his caffeine addiction. Or how his fingers are double-jointed, sometimes bending in ways that seem impossible (or very painful, at least) to Seungcheol.

Perhaps the hardest thing for Seungcheol to reconcile has been that he _wants_ to know these things. He wants to know Jeonghan – not only those inconsequential details that anyone can spot as long as they're observant enough. He wants Jeonghan to tell him things – he doesn't know if he's ever been quite so greedy to find out someone's favorite color or ice cream flavor, but also their greatest fear and deepest regret. He wants to know how Jeonghan might react in a certain situation before it happens. To have even the faintest idea what he might be thinking in those moments when his face is closed-off, eyes measuring his surroundings with no discernible emotion.

What's more is that, for the first time since meeting his soulmate, Seungcheol is actually considering letting himself find out all of these things. And for the first time, Jeonghan seems hell-bent on shutting him out.

_Forget it_ , Seungcheol thinks. Studying is a lost cause when his brain is a million miles away from memorizing the muscular anatomy of the human body. He gathers his things and leaves, looking up Hansol in his contacts as he starts making his way home in brisk strides to ward off the chill.

Hansol picks up on the second ring, the steady beat of a hip hop track playing in the background. _”Yeah?”_ he sounds bright, Seungcheol observes. With the impending countdown, he finds himself monitoring Hansol's moods more carefully. Which is pointless in itself, because Hansol is more often than not unambiguous in his emotions, whether it is intentional or not.

”What are you doing next weekend?” Seungcheol asks.

_”You know I don't plan that far ahead. How come?”_

”You remember Jihoon from the party? He needed a favor from me. Which means I need one from you.”

_”Oh yeah?”_ The music on Hansol's end quiets down to a barely audible volume. _”What kind of favor?”_

Seungcheol tells him about the open mic night, even if he leaves out the part about the poor turnout – deceptive, perhaps, but he's trying to sell this idea to Hansol the best he can. He doesn't want to leave Jihoon down, not when their friendship stands on such tenuous ground, and there's no way in hell he's performing alone.

_”Hyung”_ , Hansol cuts Seungcheol off just as he's about to mention the 'first three drinks are on the house' perk. He sounds serious, all of a sudden, and despite being oblivious to the cause, Seungcheol feels dread. _”This band thing is on Saturday, you said?”_

”What, are you busy?”

_”Kind of”_ , Hansol says dryly. It is unlike him. _”My timer stops on Saturday.”_

”Shit”, Seungcheol curses under his breath. His right hand that's holding the phone feels numb, fingers stiff from the cold – under different circumstances, he would think of a way to put the conversation on hold until he's indoors, but he figures that a friend's personal crisis holds more weight than the threat of mild hypothermia. ”What time does it stop?”

_”Past ten”_ , Hansol replies. _”Eighteen minutes. Shit, it's gonna happen at the bar, isn't it?”_

”I'm not sure”, Seungcheol admits. ”These things are hard to predict. Hell, I wasn't expecting to almost get run over by a car when I met my soulmate.”

_”You did have awful luck with that, didn't you?”_

”No kidding. To think that Mingyu and Wonwoo met at some nice restaurant.” Seungcheol scoffs, briefly distracted by the injustice of it all, before he remembers the point of the conversation. ”How do you feel, anyway? And forget about the open mic thing, it's not that important.”

_”I...”_ Hansol trails off, and Seungcheol feels a near-painful pang of sympathy. He can relate to it all too well – the uncertainty, the nagging existence of an irrevocable life change that's drawing closer. _”How did you feel right before it happened?”_ Hansol asks instead of answering the question. _”Before you first met him.”_

It becomes clear to Seungcheol, then, that Hansol still doesn't know about Jeonghan. When Mingyu first found out, he had thought it best not to spread the truth any further, even if he's almost positive that Mingyu told Wonwoo in less time than it takes to say the word 'secret'. Now that Jihoon knows (and possibly Soonyoung), however, it feels unfair that Hansol should be the only one left in the dark.

Now is not the time, though. Seungcheol forces himself to think about Hansol's question, but it's like trying to condense into words something that is beyond the restrictions of any human-made language. Scientists have researched it – studies upon studies measuring the brain activity of people on the verge of encountering their mate, but the consistent changes in brain activity tell only a fraction of the truth. Science is neat, esteemed, comforting in its clarity. But what about those things that can't be measured?

Seungcheol remembers leaving school on that day, March 15th, walking through the streets in a strange sort of daze. Stepping inside the coffee shop, craving the warmth and the smell of dark roast and baked goods, even as his feet carried him out of the door mere minutes later. Almost walking headfirst into traffic – so unlike him, being so unaware of his surroundings – , when Jeonghan pulled him to safety.

”It felt like I wasn't in control”, Seungcheol says, his words coming out careful, deliberate. 

_”'In control'? What do you mean?”_

With some effort and a single arm, Seungcheol wrestles open the door to his building. He lowers his voice in the echoing hallway. ”It's hard to describe”, he says. ”It's like... a reflex? When something comes flying at you and you flinch. Or when you're so lost in thought you end up walking past your destination. You're aware of what's happening, but at the same time your brain's on autopilot? I dunno. Even I don't understand what I'm saying.”

Hansol chuckles, but it comes out sounding strained. _”I think I get it”_ , he says. _”As much as I'm able to, anyway. I used to hate it when adults would get all cryptic, saying how you can't imagine how it feels before you've felt it, but I guess they were right.”_

”Look, forget about the open mic night. You have more important things on your plate.”

_”No, I wanna do it. Just... don't hold it against me if I bolt at the last minute, you know?”_

”Of course not”, Seungcheol says. ”Remember that we'll be there with you when it happens.”

_”I know you're trying to comfort me, but you're making this soulmate thing sound even scarier.”_

Once he's finally inside his apartment, Seungcheol almost heaves a sigh of relief. There's a certain satisfaction to it, shedding the burden of a long day. ”It's not exactly scary”, he says, tossing his gym bag in the corner as he kicks off his shoes. _Not to most people, at least._ ”Kinda daunting, yeah. In some ways, your life will change, whether you like it or not.”

Jeonghan's words, never really forgotten, resurface like a stubborn afterthought: _'Like it or not, we're bound for life.'_ Seungcheol hates thinking about them, because they inevitably make him think of Jeonghan's wounded rage.

He ends the call with Hansol and is about to discard his phone, when he sees the blinking notification of an unseen message. It's from Doyoon, of all people, and his stomach does something complicated at the discovery.

_u busy this week? i'm in seoul rn._

The message is innocuous on the surface, but things with Doyoon often appear that way. Seungcheol can't help the flare of irritation, though he's not sure about the target of his ire. He hasn't spoken to Doyoon since...

...even thinking about the phone call makes his cheeks heat up. He doesn't know how phone sex with someone he's already had _actual_ sex with can get him so flustered, and yet.

His screen glows up at him as he stares at the words. The timing couldn't be worse – Seungcheol's got enough to worry about without further distractions, and Doyoon certainly counts as one. It seems strange, hanging out with an old hookup, when he is yet to negotiate his ever-shifting relationship with Jeonghan. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if Jeonghan was actually speaking to him – not that Seungcheol can blame him for his aloofness, not really.

”Fuck it”, Seungcheol mutters to himself. ”I'll get back to him later.” He still hasn't had a proper dinner, there's a mountain of homework waiting for him, and thanks to Jihoon and his _favor_ , it looks like he's also going to need to look up potential songs for the open mic night.

Ignoring things is so easy when you're running from something. By the time he crawls into bed, bones heavy and mind buzzing from fatigue, he's forgotten all about Doyoon's message.

 

 

Come Saturday night, Seungcheol has absolutely no idea what to expect. The bar, aptly named _Soundgarden_ , turns out to be an alternative-style establishment – progressive rock with moaning male vocals reverberates from the speakers, and the faded red brick walls are decorated with psychedelic artwork that reminds him of a very bad trip. It's not a shabby place, though, with impressively non-sticky wooden tables and a notice board stacked with flyers advertising various events from poetry slams to quiz nights. If the overall atmosphere of the bar wasn't enticing enough, the student discounts have drawn in a considerable crowd.

Seungcheol makes his way over to Jihoon, who's busy plugging in the digital Yamaha piano brought on stage. ”From the way you were talking, I expected to see fewer people here”, he says.

”It was never about the audience. People like watching this stuff, if only so that they can brag to their friends about some undiscovered talent", Jihoon says. "Drawing in enough performers was the hard part.” He straightens from his hunched position, looking blankly at Seungcheol. ”Where's your friend? Hansol?”

”He'll be here soon.” Seungcheol contemplates if he should tell Jihoon about the Acute Soulmate Situation, just in case, but decides against it. It's Hansol's business to share, after all, not his.

Seungcheol spares a look around and tries not to let his nerves show. Truth be told, he's anxious for Hansol to arrive, especially after the latter neglected to respond to his latest text. In the swarm of people that are migrating off the main floor and moving towards their seats, however, Hansol is nowhere to be seen.

”I forgot to ask if you're playing tonight”, Seungcheol says, brushing aside his unease.

Jihoon nods. ”I've got a friend who's in a band”, he says. ”He's studying in America, but he's in Seoul on holiday. All of his bandmates are in the States, of course, so we had to come up with something together. Have you met Joshua?”

”Don't think so. I don't know anyone by that name.”

”Hyung!” An incoming Mingyu slaps Seungcheol a bit too hard on the back, making him jump. ”This place doesn't look half-bad. Hey, Jihoon.”

”Nervous?” A less energetic Wonwoo asks Seungcheol.

”A little”, Seungcheol admits, speaking low as Mingyu and Jihoon fall into civil conversation. If Wonwoo and Jihoon hit it off right away, Jihoon and Mingyu are still striving to find some common ground, what with their contrasting personalities. ”I'd feel better if Hansol was here, already. Have you heard from him in the past hour?”

”Oh, right, the timer thing.” Wonwoo almost manages to make it sound like a minor inconvenience, although Seungcheol knows him well enough to distinguish his usual monotone from indifference. ”No, we haven't talked all day. You should ask Mingyu.”

Seungcheol checks the time. The event is supposed to start at eight, and it's already 7:45. ”We were supposed to meet here at half past seven so we could go over everything one last time”, he says without bothering to mask the frustration that's creeping in. ”We haven't even had the chance to practice in person.”

”Jihoon”, another voice calls out. Seungcheol knew to expect him, but something still tightens in his chest when Jeonghan appears.

Jeonghan's cheeks are flushed from the wind, stray pieces of hair fluttering against his face as he peels off his coat. Seungcheol is used to seeing him in bulky sweaters and cardigans and flannel shirts that always appear a few sizes too big on his lean body, sleeves hanging so low only his fingertips are visible. Tonight, Jeonghan's black t-shirt is still somewhat loose on him, but the thin cotton falls in a way that makes it cling to his frame perfectly, his collarbones exposed by the broad neckline. All of a sudden, Seungcheol is keenly aware of the difference between looking and staring, and he turns away before he can be accused of the latter.

Not that Jeonghan would notice, either way, considering how he's looking anywhere but at Seungcheol. Even with the short distance between them, it makes him seem entirely out of reach, and Seungcheol has a strange impulse to reach over and shake him, if only to arouse some kind of a reaction out of him.

”I was just about to call you”, Jihoon says. ”Where's Joshua?”

”He had to make a call.” Jeonghan looks over at Mingyu and Wonwoo. ”Are you guys playing tonight or just here to watch?”

”We're just watching”, Mingyu says. ”Seungcheol hyung and our other friend got roped into performing. We wouldn't miss it for the world.”

”How sweet of you. Except I can't tell if you're here to cheer us on or to watch us embarrass ourselves”, Seungcheol points out.

”We love Hansol. We would never wish humiliation on him”, Wonwoo drawls. Seungcheol wonders if he's imagining the makings of a smirk quirking at Jeonghan's lips, but they're gone before he can make up his mind.

As he averts his eyes from Jeonghan, they fix on Hansol who's pushing through the doorway of the bar. Seungcheol is about to call him over when he notices who's with him.

”He brought _Yuna_?!” Mingyu exclaims, earning puzzled looks from Jihoon and Jeonghan. ”Is he insane?”

Seungcheol hasn't had many run-ins with Yuna, but he likes her well enough. She's not a stunning beauty, but pretty in a more nondescript, mundane way that creates an impression of approachability in the eyes of sweaty-palmed high school boys. She's smart and the kind of person who excels at a myriad of pursuits, what with her dance and cello lessons and her passion in photography – in fact, her almost restless sense of ambition has rendered her a bit of a mystery to Seungcheol, who enjoys the feeling of aimlessness every once in a while.

”Hi, Seungcheol oppa”, Yuna says kindly. She has cut her hair since he last saw her, and it now reaches above her shoulders. ”It's been a while. How's college?”

”It's fine. Just a lot of work, you know.” Seungcheol smiles at her, wondering why she came. It's little more than an act of masochism, choosing to watch your partner meet their soulmate. Knowing that the two of you will never share the same innate connection.

”Sorry I'm late”, Hansol says. ”Dad was supposed to drive us, but he got held up at work, so we had to take the subway.”

”The first act is starting soon. We should go over the songs one more time”, Seungcheol says, looking at Yuna. ”Do you mind?”

”I'll go find us seats.” Hansol and Yuna exchange smiles, hopeful and fond, and Seungcheol finds that he has to look away.

The only peaceful spot inside the bar appears to be the bathroom. Hansol acts distracted as they go over the two songs - covers of Korean hip hop tracks, songs that they'd know both backwards and in their sleep - , but Seungcheol doesn't press the issue. It's only when they're about to return to the main room, the muffled sounds of a mic check announcing the imminent beginning of the show, when he feels compelled to say something.

"Did Yuna insist on coming?" he asks lightly, albeit not light enough. He can almost see Hansol tense up as the shutters fall over his eyes.

"She wanted to be here", Hansol admits. "But it was a joint decision. I'm not an idiot, I know it will be hard. I thought if I had her here..."

"You'd have someone to ground you. I get it."

Hansol eyes him guardedly. "You don't think this is a good idea, do you? I can see it on your face from a mile away."

"No, I don't", Seungcheol says. "But what does it matter what I think? It's not like my ideas have always been smart, either. You live and you learn, I guess."

Hansol manages a wry half-smile. It's enough for Seungcheol to know that the discussion is over. "I guess we should head back", Hansol says. "I need a drink or two before it's our turn."

"You go ahead. I need to pee."

Seungcheol didn't think that stage fright would be an issue, but as he hears a distant voice boom into the microphone, his whole body is vibrating with a nervous energy. He's fixing his hair at the sink, trying (and failing) to bend the black strands to his will, when he gets a text from Mingyu. _u cant hide from jh in the bathroom forever_ , it says.

Seungcheol snorts, pocketing the phone without bothering to type a response, when the door swings open. He gives the incomer a mindless once-over, taking in the dyed auburn hair and a slender build and large, cat-like eyes--

"Jisoo?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) / [tumblr](http://jeonghansgal.tumblr.com)


	8. viii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone's curious, these are songs that i was thinking of while writing the performance parts:
> 
> 1\. [panic! at the disco - lying is the most fun...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQ17Tm_qUIE) (jeonghan & co's first song)  
> 2\. [royal pirates - you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VABjdAfPvtI) (jeonghan & co's second song)  
> 3\. [seventeen's hip hop unit - lotto (remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afmFS_zjXZg)(cheol & hansol's first song)  
> 4\. [mino - body](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s061ZghNTps) (cheol & hansol's second song)

”Hello, Seungcheol.” Polite as ever, nothing in Jisoo's demeanor suggests that something out of the ordinary is happening. An easy-going half-smile on his lips, his eyes sweep over Seungcheol, who wishes he knew him well enough to interpret that look.

It should be a good sign that Jisoo, as Jeonghan's confirmed best friend, hasn't punched him in the face yet. Then again, based on what little Seungcheol knows about him, he doesn't seem like the violent type. When Wooseok and Jisoo were still dating, Jisoo's nickname was briefly Gentleman after another one of their teammates discovered him in Wooseok's contacts.

The joke grew old after a month or two, but Seungcheol can still recall the jeering comments: _”Got a date with your gentleman? Does he buy you roses? Serenade you under the moonlight?”_

”I didn't know you'd be here”, Seungcheol admits. ”Shit, it's been so long. How have you been?”

Jisoo's gaze flicks over to the stalls, and Seungcheol realizes it wasn't the smartest decision, trying to catch up when he's supposed to be on stage soon and Jisoo's probably standing there with a full bladder. Jisoo obliges, of course, ever the gentleman.

”I'm doing good. I'm only in Seoul for a week – I go to college in Los Angeles”, and Seungcheol perks up at that, because this is all starting to sound familiar. ”Kind of ironic, really. I had to stay in the States for Chuseok, but I'm spending Halloween in Korea.” Jisoo utters a light, airy laugh.

”So, when Jihoon mentioned Joshua, he was talking about you?”

”That's my English name, yeah. My mom is from California”, Jisoo says. ”I keep forgetting that not everyone knows. I'm pretty sure Jeonghan calls me Shua more often than Jisoo, and he can barely speak two sentences of English.”

From the main room, Seungcheol can hear the first strumming notes of an acoustic guitar. He knows Hansol and the others must be wondering what the hell is keeping him so long, and he's about to excuse himself when Jeonghan peeks through the doorway. His brows knit into a minute frown at the sight of Seungcheol and Jisoo.

”Shua, we're up after this one”, he says, all the while looking at Seungcheol. It's just about the most attention Jeonghan's given him in weeks, and although Seungcheol knows better than to look for any semblance of warmth in his stare, the simple acknowledgement feels good. Which is pretty pathetic in and of itself.

Jisoo nods, ”I'll be right there. Maybe we can catch up later?” It's a testament to Jisoo's manners that Seungcheol can't tell if he's being genuine or simply polite. Seungcheol can't bring himself to care all that much, though, as he's more intent on following Jeonghan out of the door before it can swing in his face.

”What were the two of you talking about in there?” Jeonghan asks, eyeing Seungcheol the way one might regard a new and unknown species. Seungcheol, however, is distracted by the bass guitar Jeonghan's holding in his grasp, fingers wrapped around the neck of the instrument to keep it upright.

”You play the bass?” he blurts out.

Jeonghan adjusts the strap on his shoulder. ”Yeah, so feel free to get the bassist jokes out of your system. You didn't answer my question, though.”

Seungcheol frowns. ”It was just small talk”, he says, a little defensive. ”He didn't say much. I didn't say much, either, in case that's what you're worried about.”

”It is”, Jeonghan says, but there's no bite to his voice. Seungcheol follows his restless movements, fingers tapping against the wood, eyes darting between Seungcheol's own and the end of the hallway. Seungcheol realizes, then, that Jeonghan's nervous.

”You in a band or something?” he asks casually.

Jeonghan seems to be measuring him with his gaze. Seungcheol wonders how he does it, makes everyone feel like he's considering if they're worth his while. ”Not really”, he says at last. For some currently unfathomable reason, Seungcheol has passed the test, it seems. ”I mean, I can play, but I'm just helping out Jihoon tonight.”

Seungcheol tries not to come off too eager, but it's sort of thrilling, having finally opened up a path of conversation after weeks of radio silence. His timing could certainly be better, but he hopes that later in the night, with the pre-performance jitters gone and once the adrenaline has kicked in, Jeonghan might be willing to talk things through.

”Good luck out there”, Seungcheol says, and Jeonghan gives a jerky nod. It's awkward, but it's a start.

The first performer is a waify-looking girl with dyed pink hair and a guitar. She's singing acoustic indie renditions of mainstream pop hits, and although it's a bit too gimmicky for Seungcheol's taste, she has a pleasant voice. Some patrons are swaying in their seats, others look distracted – Seungcheol wonders if the night would've called for a more upbeat opening act. He orders a beer and sits down next to Mingyu, who's glued to his phone.

”How did it go?” Mingyu asks without looking up from his screen.

”How did what go?”

”You took forever out there. By the time you got back, I had already finished my first drink”, Mingyu says, pointing at the empty glass in front of him. ”Your dear, sweet Jeonghan bolted like a bat out of hell once we figured out you and his best friend were the only ones missing. Considering that Jisoo just walked in, I'm guessing the two of you didn't have a fight to the death in the men's bathroom.”

”A fight to the death?” Seungcheol snorts. ”Have you _met_ Jisoo?”

”Jisoo the Gentleman”, Mingyu drawls. ”He and Jeonghan make an odd pair, don't they? Then again, Jisoo does seem like the patient type.”

Seungcheol finds that he doesn't appreciate Mingyu's sardonic tone, but he stays silent while sipping his beer. He focuses on Jisoo, who's making his way towards the table where Jeonghan and Jihoon are seated. Jeonghan, now without his bass, instantly leans over to whisper something in his ear. 

”Did you know that Jisoo is Joshua?” Seungcheol says, averting his eyes before Jeonghan or anyone in his present company notices him.

”And you didn't?” Mingyu looks unimpressed.

”What the hell? You've only met him, like, three times!”

”You two, shut the fuck up”, Wonwoo cuts both of them off. Despite the expletive, he sounds vaguely amused at most. ”We're listening to live music and all I can hear is your yapping.”

Seungcheol chuckles at the wounded look on Mingyu's face. Moments like this remind him why he likes Wonwoo so much.

The girl finishes her set after three songs, and there is a round of polite applause, with some disproportionately enthusiastic whooping and hollering (courtesy of her friends, no doubt). Although the small amount of beer he's downed so far is already starting to take effect (most likely thanks to his painfully empty stomach), Seungcheol's sense sharpen as he spots Jihoon, Jeonghan and Jisoo getting up from their seats, accompanied by two people he doesn't recognize.

There's a brief intermission as the players are taking their positions and doing last-minute checks on their instruments. A guy with long hair has the center of the stage, and judging by his lack of an instrument, Seungcheol pegs him as the main vocalist. Jihoon is manning the keyboard, playing some idle notes with such nonchalance that Seungcheol wonders if he's at all nervous. Jisoo looks equally casual, standing right from center with a guitar, fingers tapping a steady rhythm against his mic stand. A short-haired girl is on the drums, which leaves Jeonghan on the bass, as Seungcheol already knew.

Their first song is a cover of a Western pop rock track. The main vocalist has an interesting voice, breezy by default but strong when he needs it to be. Jisoo's singing background melodies while his fingers move deftly on the guitar strings, eyes flickering between the edge of the stage and some point in the back of the room, not once appearing to meet with another person's. It makes him appear distant in a princely way, and Seungcheol can almost imagine some people swooning over the handsome stranger with his heart-shaped face and native-level pronounciation of English.

Seungcheol finds himself following Jeonghan with his gaze, and in the crowded room he feels safe to observe the other. Jeonghan's fingers lack the practiced ease of Jisoo's and he keeps glancing down to check their position on the strings, but from the lack of dissonance Seungcheol assumes he's doing a good enough job. The overhead lights cast a soft halo over his head, and Seungcheol feels bemused as he thinks back on his nickname. Jeonghan is not a flamboyant performer, by any means – he sways slightly as he plays, caught in the rhythm of the music, but he doesn't make a show of it. At times he even seems a bit bored, although Seungcheol wonders if it's just his nerves.

He looks good, though. Tall and lanky in his black outfit, shoulders surprisingly broad – Seungcheol wonders if Jeonghan's been working out or if his shoulders have always been this way, previously disguised by all those baggy sweaters. Seungcheol swears he can hear some murmurs about him, the handsome bassist, wondering if he's already mated. The thought fills him with vague dread – not because people are intrigued by Jeonghan, but because he would be powerless if they chose to pursue him. With his past behavior, he's made sure of as much.

The second song is Korean, a melodic rock tune that causes many patrons in the bar to perk up and mouth along the words. In contrast to the spiteful tone of the previous track, this one's a love song that is well-suited for the main vocalist's sweet tenor. Seungcheol exchanges looks with Hansol, who simply mouths at him, _They're good_.

They really are. Seungcheol can almost forget about the tension in his shoulders, the pre-performance butterflies and his nagging concern over Hansol. That is, until he feels a warm breath brush against the back of his neck.

”Well, this is awkward”, Doyoon drawls, voice low against the shell of Seungcheol's ear, and he stiffens.

Doyoon looks the same as he remembered, if a little paler in the absence of the scorching summer sun. Seungcheol can't seem to stop gaping at him. Standing there in the dimly lit bar, still wrapped in a thick woollen coat, he's a jarring sight. To Seungcheol, he doesn't seem to belong here – Doyoon to him is sunshine and artificial-tasting popsicles and forest green cashier uniforms personified, a relic of the past summer.

”What are you doing here?” Seungcheol sputters, aware of the curious looks they're earning from his friends. He's told them about Doyoon, but they've never actually met, and he isn't sure he wants to make introductions here, of all places. Let alone now, of all times.

”One of my friends is playing tonight. He made me promise I'd drop by”, Doyoon says. ”I'm assuming that's what you meant, since according to my phone you did actually see my message about being in town.”

He sounds amused rather than upset, but Seungcheol feels flustered by the well-meaning jab. ”Sorry about that”, he says sheepishly. ”I forgot all about it. I've been busy lately.”

”It's fine.” Doyoon smirks. Seungcheol realizes, then, that he's never seen Doyoon upset. ”I need a drink. Join me?”

Seungcheol is happy to oblige, if only to get away from his friends' earshot. He's all-too aware of the weight of Doyoon's hand on his lower back, steering him gently towards the counter – the hand stays there as Doyoon orders himself a gin and tonic. The vocalist's voice drones in Seungcheol's ears, singing of a lost love.

”You drinking anything?” Doyoon asks as he's rummaging for his wallet.

”Nah. I'm still not finished with my beer.”

”Not up for anything stronger?”

”Not tonight”, Seungcheol says, eyeing the way Doyoon's fingers wrap around the frosty rim of the glass. ”I'm performing, actually.”

”Oh?” Doyoon downs almost half of his drink in one shot. Seungcheol is in awe. ”I remember you mentioning something about making music, once.”

”It's hardly 'making music'. We're just doing a few covers.”

”Still sounds impressive to me.” Doyoon licks his lips, savoring the tangy taste. Seungcheol watches him as he watches Jihoon and the others on stage, face impassive. ”They're pretty good. Don't you think?”

”They're my friends”, Seungcheol admits. He feels a little proud at the confession. Relieved, as well – at least it gives him something to talk about, something other than what Doyoon's unexpected presence might signal. ”Jihoon – the one at the keyboard – he's the one who got me into this.”

”Well, I'll be looking forward to it.” Doyoon flashes him a smile. Just four months ago, that sight would've made Seungcheol's stomach tighten in anticipation. ”What are you doing after this? I could buy you a drink after you're done.”

Seungcheol hesitates. He's well aware that Doyoon is not just talking about celebratory drinks or a very late dinner at the nearest fast food restaurant, and he glances over at Jeonghan, breath hitching in his throat as he realizes that Jeonghan's looking right back at them. His face stoic, fingers never faltering on the bass strings, to any onlooker it would seem coincidental. 

And yet Seungcheol suddenly feels the urge to shiver, like a cool gust of air is rocking his body. In the end it's Doyoon's chuckle that brings him out of his stupor.

”I get it”, he says. ”He's cute, isn't he?”

”Who is?” The words slip from Seungcheol's lips on their own accord, although he knows what Doyoon's getting at.

”You know who. The bassist. You got a crush on him or something?” Doyoon grins. ”Or is it just physical?”

”It's...” Seungcheol chokes down the hysterical urge to laugh. How could he even begin to explain the truth between him and Jeonghan? _It's complicated_ would be the understatement of the century.

Doyoon's hand grazes his shoulder briefly. ”It's fine”, he assures him. ”You don't need to explain.”

”Even if I did, I'm not sure you'd understand.”

As the second song draws to a close, Jeonghan's no longer looking at them. Seungcheol ends up following Doyoon's lead and ordering a gin and tonic, as well. For all of his former composure, his nerves are suddenly in tatters, and as the band starts their third and final song he feels like he's ready to flee through the back door. Jihoon would kill him, though, and Hansol would be disappointed – perhaps an even more daunting prospect.

”I'm sort of living on borrowed time, anyway”, Doyoon says abruptly. It's the tightness in his voice that makes Seungcheol pay attention. ”My countdown appeared about a week ago.”

Doyoon, too, then. It was to be expected – most people receive their digits between sixteen and twenty-one years of age. At nineteen, Doyoon is close to the population average.

”How long do you have?” Seungcheol asks.

”Six days. Part of why I wanted to get out of Daegu for the week – you know, trying to enjoy my last days of freedom.” Doyoon smiles ruefully, and Seungcheol feels sorry for him and his future soulmate.

”Well, if you're looking for casual hookups, college parties aren't a bad place to start.”

Jeonghan and the rest finish their set to a warm reception. A few people in the back are chanting Jihoon's name, and despite his nerves, Seungcheol can't hold back his chuckle at the former's flustered expression. His amusement fades, however, as the presenter calls for the third act of the night – him and Hansol.

Seungcheol has never been prone to experience stage fright, but he's trembling as he and Hansol take their positions on stage. Targeted by the staring eyes of the audience, ranging from blank to curious, he feels exposed. Rather than in those nightmares where he finds himself naked in public, however, it's his thoughts and feelings that seem to be under scrutiny. _They know I'm nervous_ , his unhelpful mind goads him. _They know I'm scared. They think I'm pathetic._

He seeks out Mingyu and Wonwoo. Mingyu appears to be laughing at them, and Seungcheol scowls, although he knows his friend means no harm. Yuna has her phone out like she's planning on filming them, and as she meets Seungcheol's gaze, she gives him the thumbs up.

It's as much encouragement as he can find before the first notes of the backtrack sound from the speakers. The noise is loud and abrupt, and Seungcheol feels the makings of a flinch in his muscles. He glances at Hansol, who looks far more composed than he feels – the sight helps him muster some of his own bravado, and in the end, his voice only trembles a little on the first words.

It gets much easier after that. Tension dissipates from his shoulders, and the slightest positive reaction from the audience fans the fire behind his words and gestures. It's been so long that he almost forgot how much he enjoys this, enjoys standing on stage, spitting lyrics like rapidfire to the heavy beat. Even the pre-performance jitters are a key part of the experience – the peak before the adrenaline release, the dizzying rush that makes him feel like he's standing on top of the world, instead of a small stage at some indie bar.

Unlike the first acts of the night, they only perform two songs. The Korean hip hop covers appeal to the youthful audience, though, and by the end of their set they've earned what just might be the loudest cheers of the night so far – which might also have something to do with the steadily rising blood alcohol levels.

Jihoon is there to greet them as they walk off stage. ”Congrats”, he says. ”You two were better than I expected.”

”Thanks", Hansol says. "I guess”, Seungcheol adds wryly. He's sweating, the black tank sticking to his back, damp hair curling at his forehead. He knows he must look like a mess, but he feels great. A lot like after a rugby match, except the feeling is more intense.

”Are you guys gonna stay around?”

Seungcheol shrugs. ”I could go for a couple more drinks”, he says, turning to Hansol.”How about you?”

Hansol smiles tightly, and Seungcheol doesn't miss the way he glances at the clock. ”Sure.”

”There they are!” Mingyu, who's somewhat more animated than when Seungcheol left him, does a poor impression of one of Hansol's parts. Seungcheol meets Wonwoo's eye – Wonwoo points discreetly at the half-empty bottle in front of Mingyu, shaking his head with that sense of entertained exasperation Seungcheol has come to know quite well.

”I'll get you guys a drink”, Jihoon says. ”I got you into this, so it's the least I can do. What are you having?”

”Can I get a tequila shot”, Hansol says. Seungcheol almost says something but ends up keeping his mouth shut. Hansol is not usually a fan of hard liquor, but with the clock ticking steadily towards ten, Seungcheol understands the need for some liquid courage. 

"Soju and a water for me." Seungcheol's not really planning on getting drunk, but if he's going to find an opportunity to talk to Jeonghan tonight, he might need some help of his own.

Jeonghan is poised at the counter with Jisoo, delicate fingers wrapped around a glass of clear liquid. Seungcheol watches him knock back the glass, Adam's apple bobbing on his outstretched neck. He licks his lips, chasing the aftertaste, and Seungcheol turns away.

The evening bleeds into a slightly surreal night. With the rotating music acts, it's the quietest Seungcheol has been at a bar. He nurses his drink, occasionally exchanging a few words with his friends, but for the most part listening to the music and observing the people in the room.

Some more than others, he admits as he seeks out Jeonghan. He's still sitting at the counter with Jisoo, this time joined by Jihoon – their heads are bent together as they seem to be caught up in a heated discussion. Seungcheol's curiosity awakens, but before he can assess the situation any further, Doyoon intervenes.

"Congrats on the performance. I don't know much about hip hop, but you seemed pretty good", he says loud enough for everyone at the table to hear, before leaning into Seungcheol's space, the smell of tobacco and gin in his breath. ”If you're trying to get laid, you're not doing a very good job”, Doyoon murmurs into his ear. They both look over to the counter, where Jeonghan's still sitting, now carding his fingers through his soft-looking hair.

”Can you go bother someone else”, Seungcheol bites back, and Doyoon laughs, ruffling his hair like he's gone from a summer fling to an endearing younger brother.

”I'm leaving”, Doyoon says. ”I'm heading back to Daegu on Sunday, but text me some time, okay? Don't be a stranger.”

Seungcheol nods and watches Doyoon's frame wade through the stuffed room and disappear through the doorway. He doesn't know how their dynamic might be different without the intimacy or the awareness of the passing season, but he's somewhat interested to find out.

He's scrolling through his phone when he receives a message from Jihoon – the same Jihoon who's sitting a few tables over. _dude what did u do_ , it reads.

Despite his confusion, Seungcheol experiences a remarkable sense of dread. _do what???_ he texts back, mentally going over the events of the night, attempting to find some sort of an anomaly.

Jihoon's response is swift. _jeonghan_ , instantly followed by another short message. _hes mad at u._

Seungcheol's heart seems to plummet. _like he wasnt before?_ he types at first but erases it. He's not in the mood for quips. _why???_ he sends instead, staring impatiently at his screen, waiting for those three gray dots to appear.

Before Jihoon can send an explanation, Seungcheol spots movement from the corner of his vision – Jeonghan and Jisoo have gotten up and are heading towards the exit. ”I'll be right back”, Seungcheol hears himself say, and he's off his seat, damn near running after them.

Jeonghan and Jisoo are at the coat check, bickering by the look of things. Well, more like Jeonghan's bickering while Jisoo seems like he's trying to placate his friend.

”I'm fine”, Jeonghan insists, and it takes Seungcheol about a second to realize he's drunk. He's tugging his coat on so roughly that Seungcheol fears it might tear at the seams. ”I just need some fresh air.”

”Should you really be going alone?”

”I'm gonna be right outside. I don't need you to babysit me.”

”Well, if you weren't acting like a baby...”

That's when Jeonghan notices Seungcheol. ”That guy again”, he whines, leaning into Jisoo, who wavers under his weight. ”Make him go away, Shua.”

The words aren't exactly surprising, coming from Jeonghan of all people, but they still sting. Seungcheol considers giving up, but he steels himself. ”Can I speak to Jeonghan for a moment?” he asks, and although the question is technically directed at Jisoo, he's looking at Jeonghan.

Jisoo seems torn, glancing back between them. Jeonghan is looking at no one, clumsy fingers fiddling with the buttons of his coat. He's swaying a bit, like he can't quite find his balance.

”I'll go with him”, Seungcheol adds, too earnest for his own liking. ”I'll make sure he doesn't walk off into traffic or something.”

”You gonna be okay with him, Jeonghan?” Jisoo says barely loud enough for Seungcheol to hear.

Grudgingly, Jeonghan shrugs. Not a very enthusiastic response, but with Jeonghan, Seungcheol has learned to accept his small victories as they come.

There's a small fenced smoking area in front of the bar. In the warmer months, smokers often linger there for as much as hours on end, tongues heavy and shoulders loose from soju. With the cold weather, however, people only step out long enough for a single cigarette, and the area is almost deserted aside from Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

Seungcheol always assumed that the right words would appear when he's in the moment. Now that he's actually in front of Jeonghan, though, the only thing he can think to say is: ”You were good up there.”

Jeonghan scoffs, patting for something in his breast pocket. It turns out to be another cigarette. ”I was a total scrub next to the others”, he speaks around the cylinder as he summons a bright red lighter. ”It may have been Jihoon's idea, but Shua was the one who dragged me into it. He knows how to put those deer eyes to use.”

Seungcheol shrugs and watches the flickering flame as Jeonghan struggles with lighting his cigarette. ”I thought you did great”, he says. ”And the audience seemed to like it.”

”Goddammit”, Jeonghan curses softly. The lighter flame keeps dying out, and his hand hovers around the cigarette to shield it from the wind. It's not enough, though, and Seungcheol holds out his hand so that the flame is blocked from both sides. Jeonghan glances up at him with an arched brow, and the brief eye contact makes Seungcheol's breath hitch – then Jeonghan looks down, lashes fluttering against the faint bruised purple of his lower eyelid.

A spark and a flame.

”How often do you actually smoke”, Seungcheol says. The embers glow bright orange as Jeonghan inhales smoke into his lungs.

A beat, followed by an exhale. Despite his blatant dislike for Seungcheol, Jeonghan has the common courtesy to turn away as he blows out smoke. ”I told you before”, he drones, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. ”I haven't even smoked once since... since that night. God, you and Joshua would probably get along.”

”Jihoon told me you two were best friends.”

”He did, huh.” Jeonghan sniffs, nose red from the cold, and flicks some ash onto the pavement. Seungcheol almost says something but decides against it. No need to disrupt the temporary peace between them over something as trivial as littering.

It takes him a moment to realize that Jeonghan's not going to continue. _Fair enough_ , Seungcheol thinks – it's not as though he was expecting Jeonghan to be in a chatty mood. Aware that he probably has as much time as it takes Jeonghan to finish his cigarette, he says:

”I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. ”Yeah, let's not do that.”

Despite his low expectations, Seungcheol is taken aback by the blunt refusal. ”But--”

”Why did you bring him here?” Jeonghan cuts him off, voice razor sharp.

Somewhat foolishly, the first person Seungcheol thinks of is Hansol. ”What are you talking about”, he says, striving to keep his tone non-confrontational.

”That guy. You know who I'm talking about.” _Doyoon._ ”It's clearly not my business what you do in your spare time and with whom, but you knew I was gonna be here tonight”, Jeonghan says coolly. ”Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

”I'm not seeing him”, Seungcheol argues.

”I'm not an idiot, Choi Seungcheol.”

”I mean it! We used to have something, I guess, but not anymore. We're just friends.”

”I don't really care!” Jeonghan's sudden outburst takes the breath out of Seungcheol. His eyes are wild, the lazy telltale drone of intoxication replaced by sharp, jutting words. ”I don't _care_ if you're fucking him, but having him here right in front of me? Do you even know what it feels like? It's not like I can help it, it just happens, this stupid soulmate bullshit, but it fucking _hurts_ \--”

Seungcheol is at a loss for words. He can't seem to do anything right when Jeonghan's involved – soulmates are meant to ease each other's suffering, yet all he seems to do is to keep adding to it. He feels utterly helpless as he watches Jeonghan toss the cigarette behind his shoulder and turn to leave, and without really thinking, Seungcheol reaches out for him.

It's enough to make Jeonghan freeze. He stares at their linked hands in abject horror, like he's suddenly sprouting a second thumb. Since their first encounter, physical contact between them has been sparse – there's the occasional brush of shoulders or elbows that makes Seungcheol's skin tingle but is altogether too fleeting to trigger a real response.

Now, Seungcheol feels the electric pull towards Jeonghan – it's beckoning him, inviting him to run his thumb along the heart line on Jeonghan's palm, to feel the pads of his fingertips and the blue veins of his wrist. He has never felt so enticed by the simple act of holding someone's hand. He's dimly aware that his thumb is moving ever-so slightly, trailing over the blunt ridge of Jeonghan's knuckle. Seungcheol knows he should let go now that Jeonghan's not walking away anymore, but it takes considerable effort to loosen his grip.

When he does, Jeonghan's hand falls at his side and curls into a fist. ”What is wrong with you”, he breathes. ”You're crazy. You're actually out of your mind.”

”Doyoon is not my boyfriend”, Seungcheol argues back. ”He's not anything. And I didn't even bring him, I didn't think he was going to be here tonight.”

”I wish that was the only issue here.” Jeonghan barks a short, acidic laugh. ”I told you off last time, and now you're doing it again, you're following me and trying to talk or whatever--”

”Christ, Jeonghan, can you listen to me for _one second_? I just want--”

Seungcheol's sentence gets cut off by a pair of lips. Jeonghan's kissing him, if you can even call it that – his mouth is hard against Seungcheol's, the force almost enough to bruise, and Seungcheol holds back a wince as their teeth clank together. His own lower lip falls slack, but Jeonghan's mouth remains firmly sealed shut. Seungcheol can feel so many things at once – Jeonghan's chilled skin, the tip of his nose pressing into his cheek, the strands of hair tickling his forehead and chin.

Technique-wise, it might be the worst kiss Seungcheol's experienced since his childhood years. It's hardly even a kiss, really, but it starts a fire in him, one that coils in the pit of his stomach as he chases Jeonghan's lips. He's never felt quite this desperate. He wants to feel every inch of Jeonghan, wants to lick into the stubborn opening of his mouth and to trace the inside of it, he wants and he longs and he _needs_ \--

And Jeonghan's pulling away, panting as though they were kissing for minutes instead of seconds. ”Is that what you want”, he drawls, looking almost as dazed as Seungcheol feels. ”Is that what you came here for?”

Seungcheol has no response. Jeonghan turns and storms back inside, and this time Seungcheol doesn't try to stop him. His mouth is still throbbing with the taste of Jeonghan, lips tender and tingling with phantom pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/enkeliyjh) / [tumblr](http://jeong-hoe.tumblr.com)


	9. ix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE: some r-rated spiciness in this chapter**
> 
> sorry for the delay with this chapter. to be totally honest, it was a nightmare to write, probably because i have a hundred things on my plate right now that i feel like i should be doing instead. overall the updates are probably gonna get slower for now, but i haven't abandoned this thing!! i swear.
> 
> my apologies to the verkwan folk, but this fic is gonna have side!jisol, although they probably won't have a prominent part. who knows lol.
> 
> as always, thank you so much for all the comments, they make me happy ♡ also if u want come talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/coupjeongs) or [tumblr](http://jeong-hoe.tumblr.com).

In Seungcheol's dreams, Jeonghan always seems to be more or less than himself. Tonight, he's a softer shadow of the real Jeonghan, all butterfly kisses and gusts of warm peppermint breath on Seungcheol's lips. Seungcheol cherishes him, cherishes the look of uncomplicated love in his eyes, all the while he knows it's not enough and never will be.

Even after he wakes up, he feels like he's dreaming, the dissociative haze of a hangover wafting around him as he steps over Hansol's sleeping form and swallows half a painkiller, rinsing it down with lukewarm water. He didn't drink too much last night, but he feels like he's been on a bar-hopping marathon with the way his head is throbbing. Maybe it's the after effect of Jeonghan, he muses, almost wincing as his mind flashes back to the moment Jeonghan's lips smothered his in a violent kiss.

He hears Hansol shift on the futon and welcomes the distraction. ”Morning”, Seungcheol says, watching as Hansol fumbles for his phone and squints blearily at the numbers on the digital clock. ”How do you feel?”

Hansol merely grunts. With his messy hair and pallid face, he looks a lot like how Seungcheol feels, and Seungcheol shakes the medicine bottle at him like a toy at a dog. Hansol holds out a hand, and he swallows the pill dry before Seungcheol can get him a glass of water.

”You hungry?”

”Starving.”

”Then we have to order in”, Seungcheol says, realizing a tad too late that his hospitality is pointless with nothing but orange juice in the fridge. ”Is chicken okay?”

Hansol shrugs. It seems he's not feeling any more talkative than when they left the bar last night. Seungcheol would be lying if he said he wasn't curious – he's been itching to ask Hansol about his first encounter with his soulmate – , but he figures Hansol will open up when he's ready. All things considered, though, it seems like the meeting didn't go very well.

They're waiting for their order to arrive, caught up in the mindless act of going through their phones, when Hansol speaks.

”Mingyu keeps messaging me”, he deadpans, eyes never leaving the screen. ”About last night.”

Seungcheol has known Hansol long enough to recognize the words for what they are – a timid invitation for further inquiries. ”Did you reply?” he asks.

Hansol shakes his head. ”Nah. You know I love Mingyu, but I can't handle him right now”, he says. ”I mean, he means well, but he and Wonwoo...” he trails off. ”They're just so perfect together, you know? Always have been. I don't think he would understand.”

”What happened, anyway? I got back from getting some fresh air”, it takes Seungcheol massive effort not to stumble around the words, ”and you'd disappeared somewhere.”

Hansol seems weary as he speaks, like he never slept in the first place. ”Some time after you left, I got a call from Jun”, he says. ”Normally, I might have ignored it. Texted him, told him I'd call him back later. But all of a sudden, I got this feeling, like if I didn't pick up everything could go horribly wrong. Did you feel that way, too?”

”Something like that, anyway”, Seungcheol admits. He recognizes what Hansol's trying to paint into words, that strange, overwhelming sense of compulsion. ”Go on.”

”Right.” Hansol licks his lips, collects his thoughts for a moment as Seungcheol looks on. ”So, I tried to find a quiet spot, but it was so loud everywhere, you know? And just as I turned around a corner I ran into this guy.”

Seungcheol frowns. ”Was that the...”

”Nope. It was some random guy, pretty hammered by the look of it – he kept saying I'd spilled his drink and he wanted me to pay him for it, but I didn't have any cash. I offered to go with him to the counter to pay for a new one with my card, but he wasn't getting it. He just kept saying, 'Where's my money?' - it was kind of scary, actually. I thought he might punch me in the face when Joshua showed up.”

”You know Joshua?”

”I didn't.” A look of uneasiness flits across Hansol's face. ”He's my... whatever you wanna call it.”

For a moment, Seungcheol feels entirely stupefied, like he's been struck over the head with a shovel. So, Joshua didn't travel to Seoul simply to do Jihoon a favor – he came to meet his soulmate. Who also happens to be one of Seungcheol's closest friends. Who is soulmates with Jeonghan, who is _Joshua's_ best friend. It should be borderline funny, yet Seungcheol feels a little sick.

The ringing doorbell brings an abrupt interlude to the conversation. Seungcheol is distracted by the greasy chicken and coke, and they eat their belated breakfast (or early lunch) on the floor. The space is so narrow that Hansol's bony knees keep knocking into Seungcheol's every time he shifts. They eat ravenously, greasy lips wiped on crumpled paper, and by the time only bones remain, Seungcheol barely feels sated.

”So, what happened between you two”, he says as Hansol's finishing his coke. ”I'm assuming you talked?”

”Well, yeah, obviously. I didn't even know his name.” Seungcheol expected Hansol to be more distressed. Instead, he looks thoughtful. ”I dunno. It was awkward, and at the same time it wasn't. I can't describe it – it felt like he knew me, even though we had never spoken before.”

Seungcheol has always been fascinated by the different ways in which people describe the experience. To some it's like sinking into a warm bath, to others it's a refreshing summer drizzle that seems to rouse them from their life-long stupor. Soothing or invigorating, depending on what that person is looking for, what they've been missing their entire life.

He never felt like he knew Jeonghan. It was more as though Jeonghan was holding all the knowledge he'd been yearning for in that moment, just out of Seungcheol's reach.

”Did you tell him about Yuna?” he asks, watching as Hansol's face shifts in a complicated array of emotions.

”I didn't. Not on purpose”, he rushes on to say as Seungcheol's disapproval must be radiating off of him. ”It just... It was harder than I'd imagined, you know? He looked so happy to see me, and I...”

Hansol's voice doesn't trail off as much as it comes to a full stop, like his defense has suddenly run out of steam. Seungcheol pities him, but he feels vindicated, too – less weak in knowing that even the headstrong Hansol couldn't turn his back on his soulmate without any inner conflict.

”Anyway, we're meeting again”, Hansol goes on to say. ”I'll tell him then. Even if I wasn't already with Yuna, it wouldn't work. He lives halfway across the world, he probably doesn't wanna be tied down to some high school senior...”

”Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

”You're starting to sound like Mingyu hyung.”

Seungcheol shrugs. ”Maybe Mingyu is right about some things”, he points out. ”I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just saying that you shouldn't assume you're not hurting his feelings by doing this – even if the thought makes you feel better.”

Hansol's eyes are bright and perceptive. ”Every time we talk about this stuff, you get that look on your face”, he says. ”Like you're a million miles away. It's weird.”

The truth seems to slither up Seungcheol's throat, demanding to be let out. Seungcheol could stop the words from escaping, he figures, could bite down on them and give another one of his weak excuses in their place. But he finds he doesn't want to – he's already kept Hansol in the dark for too long.

So, he tells him. About Jeonghan; about their various, more or less disastrous run-ins. About how he didn't want people to know because he would rather pretend the issue didn't exist. With more hesitation, he tells him about last night's events, all leading up to the kiss that left him more exposed and breathless than a slap across the face.

Seungcheol's not sure what he's expecting from Hansol's reaction. Perhaps it's that 'kicked puppy' sort of stare he has come to associate with his more somber moods, which is why the stormy look on Hansol's boyish face comes as somewhat of a surprise.

”And you didn't tell me about any of this when it happened?” Hansol says. ”What the hell, man?”

”I wanted to tell you sooner--”

”So, why didn't you? How did you think I'd react?”

Seungcheol finds he has no response to Hansol's question - not one that can be conjured up so quickly, anyway. A heartfelt apology should be the safest strategy, right? (Unless you're dealing with Yoon Jeonghan, anyway.) ”Look, Han, I'm really sorry”, he says. ”It was a shitty move, leaving you in the dark like that. I would've told you ages ago, but then I found out about the countdown, and I didn't want my thing with Jeonghan to affect your decision.”

” _Affect_ it?” Hansol repeats, incredulous. ”Hyung, do you have any idea how lost I've been feeling these past few weeks? If you had told me about Jeonghan, maybe last night would've been easier, maybe I would've understood better what was coming...”

”I know. I see now that it was a mistake. I fucked up, Han, I'm sorry.”

Hansol nods slowly, eyes fixed on the paper napkin he's shredding into tiny pieces. It's a persistent anxious habit of his, picking something apart with his fingers, whether it's a loose thread or the dead skin around his (often bloody) nailbeds. Seungcheol knows this because he knows him, probably better than anyone.

He knows Hansol, and yet he still keeps hurting him.

Maybe it's the hangover, maybe the stress that has been piling on his shoulders lately, but Seungcheol feels deadly tired. He crawls back into his bed, half-expecting Hansol to lie down as well – it's not unusual for them to spend their hangover days in a sleepy stupor, dozing on and off and catching glimpses of television re-runs in between. Instead, Hansol gets dressed, muttering something about schoolwork – Seungcheol offers to walk him to the subway station, but he declines.

”I could use some time alone right now”, Hansol says as he's slipping on his bulky street sneakers. ”No offense.”

”It's fine. I get it.” Seungcheol hates feeling so helpless, wishes there was something more he could do, but he figures the only thing Hansol needs from him right now is to be left alone. ”Call me if you wanna talk, okay? About Joshua or anything else.”

”I will. Thanks, hyung.”

After Hansol leaves, Seungcheol keeps drifting in and out of sleep, his dreams strangely vivid and distorted in nature. By the time he clambers out of bed to take a shower several hours later, he doesn't feel any more refreshed – on the contrary. He almost falls asleep again in the hot steam of the bathroom and jacks off to an assortment of sexual fantasies he has filed away in his head for moments like this. He's in tune with the soulmate business just enough to accept Jeonghan's appearances in some of them.

In one scenario, Jeonghan's on his knees before him, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. The hand on Seungcheol's cock is no longer his own, but it's Jeonghan's fingers that are wrapped around the base of his shaft. He's stroking Seungcheol too slow for his liking, fist cupping gently around him, fingers running along his length. His grip tightens at the base before loosening as he slides his hand closer to the tip, thumb rubbing at the head, and Seungcheol's breathless moan echoes off the bathroom walls. 

Jeonghan's knee slips a little on the wet tile floor – he grabs Seungcheol's hip to steady himself and breathes out a laugh. The gust of air hits Seungcheol's cock, sending shivers down his spine. Jeonghan's hair is just long enough to grip, and Seungcheol tugs on the dark strands, earning a sharp inhale and a moan from Jeonghan. He nuzzles into Seungcheol's hand, mouthing at his fingers, sucking one into the soft heat of his mouth and biting down on it in retaliation. Seungcheol sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as his hips jerk off the wall. 

In his fantasy, Jeonghan isn't naked – perhaps it's a strange thing to be prudish about when you're masturbating, but it seems wrong to imagine what Jeonghan's exposed body might look like, almost like an invasion of privacy. Instead, Jeonghan's clad in a drenched white t-shirt that dangles off a bare shoulder, exposing the ridge of his collarbone. Seungcheol's hand moves faster on his cock as he pictures Jeonghan's tongue, darting out from between his lips as he laps at the phantom sting on Seungcheol's thumb. 

The pleasurable throbbing below his navel keeps building up and increasing in intensity, so Seungcheol speeds up the daydream. The image of Jeonghan before him shifts – Jeonghan's tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, lips sucking at the sensitive head gently at first, then with increasing eagerness. Running water mixes with saliva and precum, Jeonghan's moaning around his cock; when Seungcheol closes his eyes, he can almost feel the vibrations. The soap is mostly washed off and water makes for poor lubricant, but he's too close to care about friction. 

He comes with a hybrid of Jeonghan's name and a curse on his lips, lungs heaving, thighs trembling as he slumps against the shower wall. His skin feels strangely numb, the water pressure stirring a pins-and-needles sensation as he rinses himself off. He catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror – hair matted across his forehead, pupils blown, chest red with a post-orgasm flush. He looks wrecked, and yet there's a hollowness in his chest he's determined to ignore. 

Just like, having reached his climax, he's determined to ignore the image of a soaking wet Jeonghan, licking a line up the underside of his cock. 

Seungcheol's drying himself off when his phone pings with a message. It's not the only one – there's a call from Mingyu that he missed while he was asleep, as well as four messages asking about Hansol. The latest message is from Jeonghan, though, and Seungcheol's stomach twists at the discovery. 

He was fully expecting Jeonghan to ignore his existence for the remainder of their college career. He has a silly, fleeting thought – that Jeonghan must have read his mind somehow, that he's texting to berate Seungcheol for masturbating to his image. Jeonghan's message, however, is brief and impersonal. 

_we need to talk. monday after 4pm?_

Seungcheol stares at the words, trying to pick up some sort of an underlying meaning, but they remain infuriatingly cryptic. ”What does he _mean_ ”, he murmurs, slouching on the edge of his bed with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. 'We need to talk.' Should there be an exclamation point at the end of that sentence? Is Jeonghan angry? Courteous? Anxious? He almost wishes Jeonghan called, instead, if only so Seungcheol could hear his tone – then again, Jeonghan has always been masterful at disguising his emotions when it serves his purpose. 

Seungcheol has been chewing on his lip when his teeth slip, gnashing into the flesh, and he winces as a sharp pain and the taste of iron floods his mouth. It's enough to sober him up, and after brief deliberation, he types a response. 

_4:30? i've got practice._

Jeonghan's confirmation is swift. _fine. see u then._

 

 

The last day of October descends upon the city in an icy wind and a mass of gray fog. For Seungcheol's afternoon rugby practice, it means doing a dizzying number of suicide drills just to get warm, and by the time practice is over, he's soaked in sweat and practically has to limp his way to the locker rooms. 

The positive thing about his grueling training session is that it's distracted him from his impending confrontation with Jeonghan. It's only when he wobbles into the showers that he remembers, which means that by the time he's finished washing up and changed into a clean set of clothes, he's vibrating with nervous tension. He finds he's torn between the urge to bail on Jeonghan and wanting to get the whole thing over with. 

Jeonghan is waiting for him at the edge of the field as Seungcheol exits the locker rooms. Huddled up in an enormous white coat, he looks like a human snowball. Seungcheol thinks of the black-clad, bass-playing, distant and alluring Jeonghan from the other night; Jeonghan with vodka on his lips and a cigarette dangling from his mouth and smudged traces of eyeliner in his eyecorners. 

”How did you know I'd be here”, Seungcheol asks, halting in front of Jeonghan. His hair is still damp, and he runs a hand through it, suddenly self-conscious. 

Jeonghan looks at him strangely. ”Is that a trick question? You told me you had practice.” 

”Yeah, but it could be any practice. How did you know to come to the field?” 

Jeonghan shifts his weight and adjusts the backpack strap on his shoulder. His cheeks are blotchy red from the wind, eyes watery. ”I know you play rugby”, he says. ”A friend of mine is on the team, and I know he has practice around this time.” 

”Oh.” The silence that follows is strained, to put it lightly. Never one to tolerate awkward situations very well, Seungcheol feels a little annoyed at Jeonghan. Jeonghan's the reason they're standing here, anyway, when Seungcheol would much rather be out of the cold, grabbing something to eat. 

”I'm freezing out here”, Jeonghan says at last. ”Can we go somewhere warm?”<

Seungcheol shrugs. ”The café in the main building?” 

”I'd rather not. I don't really need to run into any of my – our – friends right now.” 

”If you're that ashamed of me, why did you even call me out here?” Seungcheol asks, realizing halfway through the sentence that it comes out as less of a joke and more of an accusation. Jeonghan stares at him, eyebrows pinched, mouth twisted into a frown – then, he turns, starting to walk away without waiting for Seungcheol. 

”There's a coffee shop nearby”, he calls out over his shoulder, forced to speak up due to the wind. ”It's less than a five-minute walk.” 

Seungcheol sees no other option but to follow him. The upside to his chilly relationship with Jeonghan is that he doesn't feel pressured to make inane small talk, to maintain some illusion of a better, more likeable Choi Seungcheol. Even if he tried, Jeonghan would likely see right through him, anyway. 

The coffee shop is some overpriced chain establishment, and it shows. The place is neat and tastefully decorated, but the atmosphere is clinical rather than cozy, inviting its patrons to grab a quick espresso instead of lingering for hours on end. It's the kind of spot Seungcheol would never pick for a date – not that this is one, he reminds himself, not that Jeonghan is likely to have any other motivation behind his invite than to roast him in front of an audience. 

”What are you having?” 

Seungcheol glances at the menu on the wall, scribbled in neat lettering on a tall chalkboard. ”An americano, I guess.” 

”Fine.” Jeonghan turns to the barista, ”one americano and an iced vanilla latte, please. I'm paying.” 

”You don't have to--” 

”I'm the reason you're here, right?” Jeonghan says with a touch of impatience. ”It's not a big deal. It's just coffee.” 

Seungcheol doesn't argue further. He feels weird about owing Jeonghan, even if it's only for a single coffee, but he figures Jeonghan doesn't expect anything from him in return. 

While Jeonghan's paying for their orders, Seungcheol finds them seats. Around this time in the afternoon, the place is busy and most tables are occupied, so he ends up hogging two spots at the counter in front of the window. In a few minutes, Jeonghan follows him, and Seungcheol murmurs his thanks as Jeonghan sets the cup in front of him. Looking for warmth, or perhaps just something to do besides waiting for Jeonghan to make his move, he takes a sip of the too-hot drink and manages to scald his tongue. 

Jeonghan snickers at the sight of him sticking out his tongue to cool it off. ”Want some?” he offers (or pretends to – Seungcheol's not sure), raising his tall glass of iced latte. 

”Who orders a cold drink in near-November”, Seungcheol comments, watching as Jeonghan's lips purse around the plastic straw. It brings back uncomfortable memories of moments both real and imagined. 

”Leave me alone”, Jeonghan speaks around the straw, but his voice lacks any genuine defensiveness. Seungcheol doesn't quite know how to react to it, to the seemingly light-hearted banter between them that is a far cry from their most recent conversations. He has to wonder if Jeonghan is avoiding something, skirting around an issue – Seungcheol considers obliging him, but his own curiosity gets the better of him. 

”So, why did you ask me out here?” he says, watching Jeonghan's reaction from the corner of his vision. ”I mean, after the last time we talked, I kinda figured you would want to avoid me for the next decade or so.” 

Jeonghan's eyes are fixed on his glass as he stirs the drink with his straw. ”I thought I should tell you I'm sorry.” 

Whatever Seungcheol was expecting, an apology wasn't it. He replays Jeonghan's words in his head, listening for any biting sarcasm he might have missed – but for all intents and purposes, Jeonghan's words seem sincere. 

”Sorry? For what?” 

”Not for my words”, Jeonghan says bluntly. ”I meant them. But I'm sorry for what I did. The... kiss, or whatever you wanna call it.” 

Seungcheol is taken aback. He didn't think Jeonghan would acknowledge the kiss, let alone apologize for it. Jeonghan's hair falls in a curtain over his face, hiding his expression from Seungcheol's prying gaze, and he has a sudden urge to reach out and tuck his hair behind his ear. 

”I shouldn't have done that. Not without your permission”, Jeonghan continues, voice tight. ”I was drunk and angry and trying to... well, it doesn't matter.” 

”It's okay – I mean, I didn't really mind that part.” Seungcheol averts his eyes when faced with Jeonghan's prodding stare. ”Even though it may have been the worst kiss ever.” 

Jeonghan glowers at him. ”It's not like I was trying”, he sniffs. ”For your information, I'm actually a great kisser.” 

”You mean when you're not trying to punch someone's mouth with your own?” 

Jeonghan swats Seungcheol across the chest ( _ow_ ). It coaxes a peal of laughter from him, even if he's not sure what's supposed to be so funny. Perhaps he's just relieved. 

”Anyway”, Jeonghan says with a sigh. ”That's all I wanted to say, really.” It's a rare, peaceful moment between them – and yet Seungcheol can't fully revel in it, not when so much remains unresolved. 

”Jeonghan”, Seungcheol says, trying to meet Jeonghan's eyes even when the latter seems intent on avoiding his. ”I was telling the truth about Doyoon. We had a thing last summer – I didn't know he was coming on Saturday. I would've never invited him with you there.” 

”It's not that I don't believe you”, and Seungcheol knows there's a _but_ coming before the word ever leaves Jeonghan's lips. ”But that still doesn't explain much. God, Seungcheol, I really don't understand you.” 

”I want to make you understand.” 

Jeonghan wets his lips – without really noticing, Seungcheol mirrors the gesture. ”Okay”, Jeonghan says, voice hoarse. ”Not now, though. I only had time for a brief talk, anyway.” 

He gets up from his bar stool, half-finished latte in hand, and Seungcheol gets the unshakeable feeling that the tables have turned. It seems as though these days, Jeonghan is always running away from him and he's always left wanting more. 

”Shouldn't we at least exchange actual phone numbers?” 

Jeonghan shrugs, but for all his practiced nonchalance, there's a smirk playing at his lips. ”You have Jihoon's number, right? You can just ask him for mine.” 

”Or you could just give it right now, since we're literally three feet away from each other”, Seungcheol points out, but Jeonghan's already heading out of the door. 

”See you around, Seungcheol.” 


End file.
